The Georgia Incident
by MarquessaS
Summary: The Georgia Incident. After the anger and emotional upheaval of the siren incident, the brothers visit an old friend recently relocated to Georgia, in the hopes of gaining some perspective. They gain far more than they bargained for... Spoilers up t
1. Chapter 1

The Georgia Incident.

After the anger and emotional upheaval of the siren incident, the brothers visit an old friend recently relocated to Georgia, in the hopes of gaining some perspective. They gain far more than they bargained for... Spoilers up to and including 4/14

_Power is an intoxicating poison..._

Chapter 1

As always, the brothers drove. They had no real destination. Each was engrossed in thought, in a turmoil of emotion; doubt, and anger, and a hundred other nameless miseries. A lot had been said, in the past days. And as hard as they both protested afterward, they had meant every damned ugly word. It didn't matter what had lit the fuse for the situation...it could have been anything. But this latest thing had lifted the veil momentarily, and some harsh and bitter things were left to squirm under the light. Neither could back-pedal from what was so painfully and sharply exposed. They'd dredged up feelings and resentments that had been repressed, and kept contained for the greater good. Some of those wounds were fresh, and others, it seemed, had festered for years. The catalyst for the arguments may have been beyond their control, but the result was crystal clear. They had issues...major issues, between them. And neither knew how to deal with them right now without coming to blows.

Dean hardly saw the lines on the pavement. All he could think of was, thank god Bobby had shown up. The ache in his arm reinforced that...the dagger wound screamed that if he hadn't come, once again as their eleventh hour saviour, Sam would have had his head cleaved in two by Dean's own hand. Instead, here they were; alive, thank god, and struggling to cope with this new and unwelcome development. As if it weren't complicated enough...

The drive was miserable, and pointless, really. It felt like they were fleeing, and that what they fled from remained a tangible presence between them, no matter how many miles of road passed under the wheels. It usually helped Dean sort things out, his time in the Impala. But it had lost that soothing quality now, when he needed it most. He was desperate for a distraction, because the alternative was a hurt and angry silence for hours on end.

Dean made an executive decision. Their good friend, David Bowman, had recently moved, and had taken a senior surgeon position at a prominent Georgia teaching hospital. It was a big change for him; an upward career move, certainly, and he was apparently more than a little lonely, as he'd been inviting the brothers on a weekly basis since his move from the midwest. Dean had declined repeatedly, always choosing the current crisis over that indulgence, but now he felt he could use some connection with a friendly, non-judging compatriot. This time, when David wheedled, he agreed to come out.

* * *

David Bowman hung up after his invitation was accepted, delighted that he would see his friends again. It had been a long time...too long. He was more than relieved that his professional skills had not been needed by either of them lately; their luck in that regard seemed to be holding. But he missed their visits. There was always an endlessly fascinating source of discussion when they were around, and while he loved and appreciated his safe, normal world, he was no stranger now to the other side, and Dean in particular was a wealth of anecdotes and knowledge when it came to the realm that existed beyond the normal.

And he worried for them. He always would. But there seemed to be an edge of something; some tension, or unhappiness, to Dean's voice lately. He wanted to draw that out of him, as only he could.

David was in the loop now, about the boys' full story. Between Ellen, and Bobby Singer, and what he'd heard from Dean himself, David was aware of the nature of their primary battle now. He was in no way equipped to aid them with that, but they knew that he stood at the ready to mend them if ever they were harmed in the course of their struggles. And he spent more time in the local church than he had ever done before, which surprised even him. After all, it wasn't just a Winchester battle now, it was one that affected the whole of humanity. But for his own sanity, or peace of mind, he kept that knowledge pushed far away on a back-burner. Otherwise, it was impossibly hard to concentrate on the mundane facets of everyday life under those circumstances.

He set aside those thoughts and threw himself into making his new home guest-friendly. Ellen hadn't been by in a while; he was still trying to convince her to abandon her gritty life and come join him here, but so far he hadn't been persuasive enough so it had degenerated a little into the frat-house look again. He glanced around, assessing each room with a critical eye. His laundry; both clean and otherwise, was scattered around the living room. The kitchen was a disaster. The damned dog had left shreds of rawhide chews and stuffed-animal carnage all over the carpet. But most importantly, there was little to nothing in the fridge, for either eating or drinking. That was the most unforgivable of his sins. He knew the brothers were not going to be picky about his lack of house-keeping skills, but to be out of beer and snackfood pushed the limits of friendship. He grabbed his wallet and went out to remedy it.

* * *

As soon as he'd made the decision, Dean felt better. Dr. David Bowman always had a way of putting things in perspective, without being critical. He needed that now, above all else. Unfortunately, Sam was not so convinced.

"Tell me again why we have to do this now?" he demanded, an edge of irritation shading his voice.

Dean sighed. "For the tenth time, Sammy; David's been bugging us to come out ever since he moved. I think we owe him a visit by now, after all he's done for us."

"You mean all he's done for _you_."

Dean turned to him with a look of disgust. "Oh _that's_ a new one! You don't think David's done enough for you to earn a stupid quick visit?"

Sam turned away. "I'm just saying-"

"What? Exactly what are you _just saying_ here, Sam?" You benefited from his help too! I can think of more than one time he patched holes in your hide! And yeah; maybe he did fix me up more than he did you! That's because it's always me in the line of fire, saving your sorry ass!"

Sam was not in a mood to accept such a broad and condemning statement. "Well maybe if you weren't so freaking inept, he wouldn't have to!"

"Excuse me?" Dean demanded, incredulous. "Oh, tell me you did not just say that!"

Sam instantly regretted his words. He hadn't meant that. But he'd said it just the same, and there was no turning back. "Dean; look, all I'm saying is that this side trip is a waste of time right now. We have to stop the next seal from being broken! That's more important than this little social call you decided we're going on."

Dean gripped the wheel hard, his knuckles turning white with his anger. "The seal. Ok, fine; just how are we supposed to do that? Do you even know what it is? Do you know where? Your little demon-whore hasn't shown her skanky face around here to tell us that, has she? So unless you have some sort of insider information, you can just sit there and shut your pie hole until we get to David's!" He floored it angrily, hardly realizing he'd done so.

Sam leapt to Ruby's defense. "Dean, don't call her that, ok? If you want to talk about who's saved who's hide lately, you better remember how many times she's pulled you away from the brink!"

Dean couldn't argue with the facts behind that. He just didn't know _why. "_Yeah, fine, whatever! But that was just to serve her own purpose, though, wasn't it? And as far as I'm concerned we don't know what the hell she wants out of all of this!"

Sam rolled his eyes and swore. "Dean, why can't you just take a good thing at face value? You always have to analyze the source, and try to qualify it! Ruby wants exactly what she said she wants; to defeat Lilith! We don't need to know any more than that, because it's what we all want, and she's been nothing but consistent and helpful."

"Everybody who ever had some huge, self-serving agenda throughout history had those same qualities! Don't be so freaking naive! You know; just because a chick will lay down with you, doesn't make her a damned saint! Get your head out of her pants and smarten up!"

"Dean!" Sam was beyond speech for a moment, his frustration and fury threatening to push him to do Dean some real damage. He finally quelled the urge to deck his older brother. "Just...shut up, and don't talk to me about her anymore!"

Dean was silent, fuming for some time. They would never agree on that particularly acrimonious subject. Dean had nothing more to say on that; his position was as clear as day. Sam was equally closed mouthed. There was no point in going over this same scorched earth. They would not find common ground here. They continued the drive in bitter silence.

* * *

The sky had grown steadily darker as they drove, and the looming threat of rain became reality. It started as a weak drizzle, hardly enough to wet the surface for the wipers, and the squeak they made against the glass was like fingernails on a chalkboard to Sam. But it quickly deteriorated into a pelting grey wall of cold water, and visibility was poor. They had passed through miles of pecan trees and neat little towns, and were surrounded now by mixed forest and fields. The road was all but empty[ it's surface washed by wind-driven gusts of drizzle. If the mood hadn't already been sour in the car, it certainly would have been after hours of those conditions.

Sam had been silent, but his frustration was building to the boiling point. He was just as bitterly unhappy about the state of their relationship as Dean was, but he had to push that away, as there were bigger things to lose sleep over. He wasn't choosing to be in what he felt was now the driver's seat; Dean had always occupied that more than adequately. But things were different now. Sam knew he was at the centre of a maelstrom that was still unknown to them. He had powers that Dean could not begin to understand, and he knew they were integral to this fight. He also knew that what Dean didn't understand, he feared. If his fear caused him to stand in the way, then he would become a liability rather than an ally, and Sam was afraid to think of how he would have to neutralize him so that he could fight the battle without hindrance. Ruby was constantly in his ear about it-_don't let him impede you-don't let him hold you back._ She was helping him harness his gifts, but he also knew that her purpose was still under a shroud of mystery. Dean was right about that, there was no denying it. It just didn't matter at the moment. He sighed heavily. And what of Dean's destiny? That was another damned mystery. Hauled out from the pit by angels, for god's sake. They don't do that on a whim. How the hell did _that_ fit into what he knew he had to do?

Dean drove like an automaton. He couldn't shake the words. They echoed through his head, refusing to quiet. -_You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself... Whining about all the souls you tortured in Hell. Boo-hoo- _Sam had actually used the word whining. He had suffered the most terrifying and soul-destroying experience known to man, and when he turned to his brother to finally unburden some of that, he threw it back in his face as if it was a weakness. His throat tightened as he thought about it all again. Instead of comfort, he got humiliation. Sam's words were so marginalizing, so demeaning. It was as if everything Dean had suffered for him was shrugged off as nothing, and his return to the living was little more than an unwelcome complication. _Welcome home, brother._

"Jesus, watch it!" Sam barked.

Dean snapped out of his bitter reverie, braking hard and swerving. The tires slewed, refusing to bite on the slick road. The source of the abrupt reaction was a deer; a young whitetail, which had bolted across the road. It was nearly invisible in the dim light of the rain; it's winter coat a much more anonymous shade than the warm red tone of summer. The Impala grill hit it squarely in a shower of metal bits and headlight glass, a solid thump that was unmistakable. The doe skidded sideways for a moment, then struggled up to its feet and bolted into the ditch. It collapsed there, in the tall weeds. Dean ground the car to a halt at the roadside, shaken to his core. Sam swore, and held his hand to his nose, which had struck the dash with enough force to cause an instant rush of blood. Neither said a word. They sat in shocked silence, absorbing what had just happened. Dean breathed rapidly, staring straight ahead as his shaking hands clenched and unclenched on the wheel. He fought the urge to lean over and retch. After a moment or two, he gained enough control to throw the door open, and he stalked out into the rain to check on the injured animal.

He stood in the wet ditch, not noticing as muddy rainwater flowed over his boots. The doe lay on her side, panting with difficulty, and wall-eyed with terror. It was pure adrenalin that got her off the road; she had a shattered foreleg, and her belly was torn wide. It was a lethal hit, but she was still suffering, struggling to rise even as her life drained from her.

Sam joined Dean where he stood, and he too stared at the poor creature. "Do you want me to put her down?" he asked.

Dean turned to him and snarled a curse. "Go to hell!" He moved away and stood over her as he drew his handgun, holding it until his trembling hand steadied and his aim was perfect. He pulled the trigger, and her pain and fear ended instantly. Looking around, he found a small stone, and he gently closed her wide, staring brown eye, placing the pebble on her lid to keep it so. He didn't look at his brother, he just pushed past him and climbed back up the embankment without so much as a glance at the damage to the blood-spattered front end. He sat, wiping the water from his face and sluicing the rain angrily from his hair

Sam climbed in beside him. "I can drive if you want, if you're still shaky." he offered.

Dean turned to him, his expression screamed volumes. "I'm fine." he growled coldly. "Don't worry yourself."

Sam said nothing. Dean drove the car away from the gravel, slowly at first, to be sure there was no mechanical problem as a result of the impact. But the Impala was sound; its damage merely cosmetic. Silence reigned once again for a few miles.

Sam finally broke it. "Dean...there was really nothing you could have done, she came out of no where-"

Dean's expression hardened, but he kept his eyes staring straight ahead. "Wow." He smiled acidly. "Thanks, Sam...can't tell you how much that means. That just changes everything."

Sam gave up and put his head back, waiting for his nosebleed to stop. The grim mood in the car continued, and they retreated to their angry shells until the weather finally broke and the sun began to pierce the pall of damp that had shrouded it for the last hundred miles of travel.

* * *

Dean tried to shrug off the scene they'd left behind. The doe was beautiful, and if he'd paid attention, she'd be running in the field right now; scared shitless but healthy and wiser for the experience. He'd never seen one up close, and he was wracked with guilt at causing her ugly demise. He sighed, and his mind returned to the things Sam had said. He wanted to address those statements. But even more, he _didn't _want to. -_why twist the knife-_he thought. -_won't change anything, can't undo this.- _But there was also the other matter; the affront regarding his superiority as a hunter. As a matter of fact, it wasn't even his superiority that Sam had questioned, it was his very adequacy. And that could not go unanswered. He was in a brutal mood anyway, so he opened up the can of worms.

"Listen; we need to get this out of the way before we see David. I want to know how the hell you think you're a better hunter than I am, and why you said the rest of that shit!"

Sam groaned. "Not now, Dean. We were pissed off, we were under a spell-"

"Doesn't mean shit, Sammy. You said alot of things, I think you need to explain it!"

Sam sighed and turned to him. "Do you really want to go there, Dean? Because I did mean it, at least some of it. You _are_ standing in the way of my growth, and that's going to cost our lives, and maybe everybody's-"

"_Growth_? You call that growth? That's not growth, Sam, that's ruin! Without me keeping you away from that, you'd be in the pit before you could blink! You have no idea what you're dealing with, but what's even more dangerous is the fact that you think you do! You can't see sense; your brain is so clouded with the crap that demon skank's been hand-feeding you! You're like this megalomaniac, you think you're the freaking Second Coming or something!"

''Oh my god, you're arrogant!" Sam shouted. You can't see you're in over your head now! And that maybe-"

"Maybe what? Maybe you should take on the underworld on your own? You wouldn't last five seconds away from me!"

It was too much for the younger hunter. "You know, Dean; I don't actually have to stay tied to you! Just because we have been doesn't mean we need to for the rest of our lives! We actually can exist separately; hell, maybe we'd be better off!"

It was escalating, but neither was ready to put the brakes to it. "Well, _I _sure as hell would be! " Dean snorted. "I might go through a month without needing five pints of blood for the first time! You, on the other hand, would be a nasty headline in some local rag within a week!"

Sam swore at that. "You still don't get it! I have to spell it out for, is that it? I...Don't...Need...You! I know what I'm doing, and you still have no freaking clue how to deal with all this! Ruby will help me finish this, as long as you aren't standing in the way all the time! I don't know why I'm even here in this damn car right now when I should be working to try to save us all! You're the problem here, not me!"

Dean stared at him, incredulous and filled with fury. "I'm the problem? Well here's a little history re-cap for you, Sam! I'm the one hauled out of the ground by the will of God, and you're just screwed up little Demon-Boy! I think the problem is pretty damned clear! And it's pretty obvious who's gonna be the solution, too!"

Sam shook his head, eyes narrowed in disbelief. "You really still think that, don't you, Dean? You treat me like the little burden you've hauled around forever, who'd just shrivel up and die if it weren't for you running the show! You know what? Just let me off in the nearest town, and we'll both be happy!"

Dean mocked him. "..Aw, you want to run away from home, do you? Hey, go for it Sammy. Why don't you just get in your car, grab your sack of cash and get the hell out! Oh, wait a minute; you don't have wheels! And shit; no money, no job...hmm, shoot, now what?"

"Money and wheels will be easy! And so will everything else, once you're not hanging around my neck like dead weight! God, I could finally breathe!"

"Ok, that's it!" Dean stomped the brakes and pulled over to the roadside in a cloud of dust. "You and me are gonna come to an understanding! Get the hell out of my car!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Ok, that's it!" Dean stomped the brakes and pulled over to the roadside in a cloud of dust.. "You and me are gonna come to an understanding! Get the hell out of my car!"

* * *

He threw his door wide and got out. It wouldn't be the first time he'd punched his brother out, and more than likely wouldn't be the last. Sam exited with equal violence, slamming his own door so hard that it was a miracle the glass didn't shatter. He stalked around the front, standing toe to toe with Dean, and leaned forward, crowding his brother back aggressively.

"What, Dean? What have you got to say to me?" What pearls of wisdom are you gonna shove down my throat now?"

Dean bristled at the affront. "Any wisdom I have is freaking hard earned! And if I want to let you in on a better way to do things, I will! And you damned well better listen, or I'll make you regret you didn't, you snotty little shit!" He jabbed his index finger hard against Sam's chest as he spoke.

Sam returned that gesture with a roughness that far exceeded his brother's. He clenched a handful of his jacket-front in a tight-fisted grip."You still think you're leading here, don't you, Dean? Still think you're the great General, sending everybody else over that hill, never mind who comes back! Well let me straighten that out for you, you arrogant sonofabitch! You got demoted a long time ago, you're just too full of yourself to see it! I'm sick to death of hearing you talk, I'm sick of your attitude, I'm sick of your patronizing, and I'm really sick of your 'I'm the Oldest, Do Whatever I Say' crap!" He shook Dean hard in emphasis at each part, pushing him until his back pressed against the door post. Sam's eyes were black with rage, and for a second, it seemed to Dean that they almost flashed red with it. He breathed in a way that reminded him of a bull, shoulders bristling with a matador's spears, madly reacting to the sweep of the red cape, and it was so out of character that it unnerved him. They were both angry, but this; this wasn't normal anymore. He switched gears, realizing that maybe both of them were a little overwrought.

"Whoa! Take it easy! Jesus, Sam, c'mon; you're acting weird! Cut it out!" He released the defensive hold he had on Sam's shirt, dropping his hand to his side. "Relax, alright? I didn't mean that to sound like that, I just-" He felt a deep, sharp spasm, beneath his brother's clenched grip. He blinked hard and put a hand to his chest, prying at Sam's white-knuckle fingers. "Sam, let go-"

Sam did so with a growl, shoving him roughly away. As the younger man lowered his arm, the strange sensation Dean had felt began to fade. -_coincidence- _

Dean took a breath and mastered his own emotions. "Alright, you freaking drama-queen, get back in the car. We'll find some place to crash, we'll get drunk, and we can work all this shit out." He turned away and put a hand on the car door, but he stopped. Again, he felt a pang of...something. The feeling grew, and became more than uncomfortable. He tried unsuccessfully to shake it off, turning back to where his brother still stood, still rigid with fury. "Sam! Snap out of it already! Come on!"

Sam stood where he was. His odd stare intensified. He breathed hard, his nostrils widening, his mouth clenched in a thin, angry line. The discomfort Dean had felt now blossomed into something frightening; a painful cramp that gripped his insides and tightened. Dean returned the stare, pressing his palm to his breast bone nervously and frowning in disbelief. "Sam? Sam, are you doing this? Are you? Jesus, you're hurting me!" He broke his gaze away and looked down at himself in confusion, seeing nothing as the pain built steadily. "What...what are you doing to me? Look, I'm sorry Sam; I'm sorry, ok? We'll figure this out, but c'mon, please-"

Sam responded by raising his hand again, and an explosion of crushing pressure encircled Dean's chest. He faltered under it and staggered back against the car. His eyes were wild with fear now, as he felt the brunt of whatever it was that Sam was doing to him. The searing pain built, and radiated through him. He wanted more than anything to deny that it was Sam doing this, but there he stood; hand outstretched and seething with a palpable hatred. Dean could feel it flow from him, like something electric, connecting them. He tore at his shirt, as his knees buckled. "Stop! Stop it, for christ's sake!" he panted. He clutched at his sides, trying desperately to shield himself from the powerful effect. The pressure was relentless and excruciating. He could no longer draw breath properly, and he dropped to his knees, wheezing with the effort. "Don't! ...Sam, don't!"

Sam seemed oblivious to his brother's words. His eyes glowed bright, with a reddish fluorescence. He held his hand out still, curling his fingers into a fist. Dean screamed, his own ears filled with the sickening crunch of cartilage and bone as the constriction in his chest built to an agonizing level. But Sam stood, unmoved by what he himself was causing to unfold. He was trance-like in expression, and nothing Dean said or did had any effect on his stony features. Dean was now on all fours, gasping, a film of blood on his lips. He was nearly beyond speech. Tears began to stream from his eyes. He looked up at his brother and raised a shaking hand out to him, beseeching him, for the love of god, to _stop_. The band tightened harder, and on the verge of blacking out, Dean was forced to do something he never, ever thought he could do. Swaying, he reached into his coat and drew his gun. He willed his nerveless hand to grip it tight, and leveled it, desperately trying to aim accurately as he weakened.

"Don't make me-" he coughed. "-please!"

Sam growled something and tightened his fist. As sparks of light burst through his failing vision, Dean howled in anguish, and pulled the trigger.

* * *

He never saw if his bullet hit its mark. The pressure lifted abruptly and he pitched forward, writhing in the dust for a moment before lying still. Sam clutched at his upper arm, a trough torn into the soft white skin underneath. He staggered, shaking his head in shock, the unearthly red glow gone from his eyes and replaced by abject horror. He knew what he'd done. It was just as Dean had warned, just as he'd tried to steer him from, all this time. All his warnings, all his protecting, his insistence that Sam abandon his demonic gifts... The power within him was stronger than his own will; he could no longer control it and it had bloomed from his rage into an unstoppable force of seething evil.

And he'd killed his brother as a result. Dean was right, all along, he'd been right. ...And now, he was dead.

His world began to spin, he stepped back in shocked retreat from what he'd brought about, staggering away in terrified denial from the hideous reality lying in front of him. His brother's words, his begging, echoed in a screaming cacophony in his brain. "No..." he croaked. "No!"

He turned and ran.

* * *

Dean awoke in agony. He lay with his cheek against the dusty stones; confused and hurting, and came to realize that he was lying at the roadside, in the shadow of the Impala. Breathing was a nearly insurmountable challenge; he recognized the grinding resistance of fractured ribs. It took some time, his cognition was slow, but he remembered. _Sam... _He felt the heavy weight of the gun still entwined in his fingers, and he raised his head, expecting the worst; that his brother was lying somewhere ahead, cold and still at the roadside. But he was nowhere to be seen. Dean lay his head back down. He shut his eyes, and cried.

He was awakened by the creeping chill that darkness offered. Dean knew that the car was near. And he knew that Sam wasn't. His chest burned with every shallow and reluctant breath, but he raised himself to his elbows and worked to shake away the fog that clouded everything. _Sam. _He didn't know where he could be, but it seemed he'd been able to retreat under his own steam. It meant at least that he wasn't dead. He raised his head and calculated the distance to the car door. Six, or seven feet...it was really nothing. But it seemed like miles. He dragged himself up so that he was on all fours, and then his knees, holding his sides in case his body decided to fall apart on him. When it didn't, he made his way with an agonizing slowness toward the door. .._ok...ok...good. now grab something and pull up_... He found the mirror, grasping it and hauling himself up to lean heavily against the car's comforting solidity. It took several dicey moments, but he swallowed his pain and pulled the heavy door open.

* * *

Sam ran.

He ran blind, he ran mindlessly, as if he could flee from the oppressive horror of reality, and that distance would nullify it somehow. He finally collapsed, exhausted and bleeding, at the dark roadside. He sat in a despondent heap, holding his arm and rocking, weeping over what had transpired.

_Dean_.

Dean was dead. He'd felt the crushing power in his hands, in his mind. He'd seen and felt what he had done to his brother; felt the crack of bone, the breath squeeze out of him. He couldn't pull it back, once it was out of the gate. It felt so good, and so, so awful. He'd wanted to reel it in; he had wanted to just... touch him with it; _tap _him, make him understand the power. Just a wake-up call. But once he'd let it out, it had it's own head. He'd thought he was it's master, but he was wrong. He was it's bitch, and he couldn't have called it back if jesus christ himself had begged or threatened.

Dean was right.. Dean was always right. And all he ever did was act to protect his little brother. John may have assigned him that duty, but he did it out of love and loyalty. And he'd suffered for it, time and time again. He'd died because of it. Sam flexed his hand, staring at it in revulsion. He had felt it as it were his hand against his brother's body; the pressure, the compression. He'd felt it against his palm, against his tightening fingers. The memory of Dean's struggle against it burned white hot in his mind. He sat, wracked by the echoes of that rasping, pained voice..._Sammy, don't_...

He shut his eyes against the whirling images, dizzy and gasping. -_Monster_.- He was nothing more than any vile thing that they hunted. The realization strangled him, and he heaved violently from the shock, and from the pain that burned in the flesh of his left arm. He retched over and over, until he was hollow; finally laying back, exhausted and sobbing. Blood soaked his white shirt; it flowed down and ran in rivulets over his hand. It might as well have been Dean's. He watched as it dripped slowly off the point of his wristbone into the dust. He wanted to say he was sorry, he was _sorry_...but what good was that now? Only the living can forgive. And after everything Dean had done for him, everything he'd suffered...this is how he showed his gratitude. He'd laid waste to everything they'd worked towards, ignored everything he'd tried to teach him, rebuffed his efforts to protect him. And the last words Dean heard from him were condemning and derisive... And now he'd murdered him. He'd snuffed his life in minutes, in this ugly, painful, ignominious way. He'd left him like trash at the roadside.-_i don't understand...i don't understand...this wasn't how it was supposed to go-_

He had to go back. He had to. He couldn't leave him there. Go back to what he'd done...gather him up, take him and lay him to rest, in some perfect, quiet place. Then; he vowed, he'd cut his own miserable throat over that grave.

But first, a thing to attend to. Ruby.

Ruby was to blame. -_Demon bitch- _She knew all of this...she had always known. She had cultured this filth within him, in the guise of saving mankind. Lies. And he'd allowed it to happen. No, he'd welcomed it, he'd encouraged it. He was arrogant and hungry for power; consumed by childish resentment of Dean's leadership. And he'd ignored the advice of good people; people who thought only of his safety, his well being, because he was so sure he was stronger and smarter; so sure he was _right_. He knew where to go next. He needed a place, a secret place; hidden and private, where he could summon his friend. Ruby had much to explain. She always did, but now she had Dean's death to answer for. At least as much as he did.

* * *

Hand shaking hopelessly, Dean fumbled with the keys. He knew one of them was right, but they were fighting him. Finally the ignition key found it's slot. He turned it and the engine roared with a powerful response. He almost wept with relief. -_good girl-_

He willed himself to pull the door shut. The slightest movement brought him agony; he wished he could stop needing to breathe, just for a minute or two. He fought the urge to clear the blood from his throat; it bubbled and caught when he inhaled, but it hurt to cough, even more than it hurt to pull in air. He pressed his head against the seat, closed his eyes and measured his respiration slowly, almost meditatively, until the roar in his ears quieted and he felt in some control. He'd written David's address on a sugar packet, and he searched for it now. He found it, and he revved the Impala several times until the idle settled to its familiar throaty rumble. She was warm and willing; he could always count on her. He read the words over, several times, until it made sense and he was sure he could remember. And with that singular purpose burning in his brain, and sweating with pain; he forced the horror down to a place that he could contain it and he put her in gear and headed away from this miserable place.

His drive was erratic. He hit the shoulder and crossed the centre line several times, and he was damned lucky there was no traffic or law nearby. He pulled over twice, dizzy with pain, and sure that he could not continue. And twice, he found it within himself to steady and forge on.

* * *

When David looked out his window, as he always did every morning, he nearly dropped his coffee cup. "Jesus!"

Instead of his usual morning vista; green grass, birds at the feeder, perhaps a neighbour jogging alongside an eager dog in the early sunshine, he saw something wholly unexpected. His driveway lamp post was bent double, half wedged under a vehicle that sat at an odd angle, between his lawn and driveway. It was shining black; its elegant sculptural lines softened by dust. He threw the curtain wide and stared hard at the car for a moment. _Impala_... The front end was shattered and bloody. A figure was slumped against the steering wheel; brown, short-cropped hair, a dull, nondescript jacket. He knew who it was.

David threw his mug in the vicinity of the sink, tightened his terry robe, and dashed into the driveway. The door to the Impala was partly open. Dean had apparently tried to leave the car sometime during the night, but had never made it past that action. David pulled the door open fully, careful not to spill the occupant onto the pavement. The door alarm was silent by now, the battery long since drained. He rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, speaking to him as he drew him back to rest against the seat.

"Dean...Dean, it's David, can you hear me?"

Dean pulled in a pained breath. His eyelids fluttered as he returned to the present. He mouthed a silent acknowledgement.

David saw blood dried in a line at the corner of his mouth, and more wiped on his sleeve. He saw the taut strain in his friend's features. He swore in dismay, and held a warm and comforting hand to Dean's damp face, while he scanned him for whatever was obviously ailing him. He noted that he was alone, which was rare; he'd never known the Winchester brothers to travel solo. Dean turned his glassy, teary eyes to focus on his friend. He whispered haltingly, "david, help me..."

"Shhh, don't speak!" David became thoroughly professional. He couldn't see what was wrong, but since Dean had been able to get himself this far, he felt safe pulling him up and out of the car. He took Dean's arm, hooked it around his neck, holding his hand, and wrapped his other arm around his middle, hauling him free from the seat. He felt Dean stiffen, and heard him draw a strangled breath. He walked the few feet to the steps and managed to get him through the front door, and deposited him carefully on the couch. When he switched on the light for a better view, he was shocked by his pallor. Dean wouldn't stop trying to talk, although it was clearly a painful effort. David finally held his hand over his mouth, ordering him to be still while he checked him over. Tears escaped the younger man's eyes, but he quieted.

David set out to determine what the immediate issue was. Dean couldn't breathe, that was clear enough. He was in obvious and severe pain, but there was nothing that bled through his clothing. He put his arm behind his neck and lifted him to hike his shirt up, and Dean drew a sharp breath when he brushed his sides, jerking away reflexively. David saw the bands of purple bruising that accompanied his pain. He'd never seen it's like.

"Christ, Winchester, what did you get into now?"

He pulled the garment off fully, exposing his torso. There was obvious evidence of trauma, David recognized the swelling associated with fractures. He systematically ran his hand along his ribs, his back, his sternum, feeling for the unnatural give. There were a number of suspect places, Dean gasped and pushed his hand away each time, taking several minutes to recover before David could continue. But none of the bones was displaced. He listened to his lungs, finding only slight sounds of fluid, which was a relief considering that he'd been bleeding from the mouth at some point. His blood pressure was within range, higher than normal, which was better than lower, which could have indicated internal bleeding. There was little that could be done for this other than the usual taping. He already knew that he would refuse to go in for scans, David hardly blamed him after his experience at his last hospital. He retrieved his supplies and warned his patient that he was going to hurt, and he leaned him against his own shoulder while he wound the tensor bandage into a firm cocoon around his chest. Dean's eyes were rolling by the time he'd finished. He was ashen, and David couldn't get any more information from him. He sedated him then, to relieve his pain.

* * *

He remained curled up on David's couch, for a full day. When he wasn't struggling against the pain that kept him moaning in his sleep, he lay staring in silence, for hours. David could not break through. Whatever had happened had traumatized Dean so severely, and David was at a loss. Dean's breathing was painful and laboured, but it was his wide-eyed staring that frightened David most. He was glad that Dean had come to him, but he had made zero headway in learning what had happened, or how he could possibly help him now. As friend, and physician, it drove him nuts. He'd called Sam's cell repeatedly, but no one answered. It was the same with Bobby Singer's number, he was the person who could possibly shed some light on it all, but he seemed unavailable as well. He'd spoken at length with Ellen, and she made it her mission to track Bobby down.

He hoped Dean would come out of his state of shock soon and talk to him. All he could do was wait.


	3. Chapter 3

_Note: This story was written at the time the Siren episode was current. Since the television series moved in directions that differ from what I'd imagined here, it now pushes The Georgia Incident into somewhat of an AU territory._

* * *

Sam walked into the brush at the roadside. It was thick, and laden with thorns, and the undergrowth tripped him time and again. But he pushed through the tangle and found his way into deeper woods. Here, the trees grew further apart; they were older, and their mature crowns blocked the light so that nothing grew at their bases but lichen and moss. He walked with ease now, scanning ahead for a suitable place. He found it; an open circle, mossy and surrounded by old deciduous growth, just enough space for him to draw his trap into the cool spongy earth. He wasted no time, scratching the symbols and lines into the humus. When he'd completed his trap, he sat down beside it for a moment, tired and weakened by blood loss. Tearing a strip from his cotton shirt, he bound the place where Dean's bullet had carved his skin. It was bleeding profusely and it hurt like hell, but it was far from lethal. -_of course_- Even as Sam crushed the life from him, Dean had tried to minimize the damage from his shot. Sam was keenly aware of that fact. Dean could have blown his head off with ease had he been so inclined. He could've done it with his eyes closed.

It brought fresh tears to his eyes. The image of his brother reaching out to him in the end, his silent appeal to Sam's humanity... A futile effort, it turned out. Bitter bile rose again in Sam's throat, his self-revulsion threatening to choke him. He forced it down for the moment. He had a mission now. He would make sure that what Dean had worked towards, what he'd warned him about, would be reconciled. Ruby was a source of evil. Dean was right. And she was going to atone for what she did to bring this about. Just as he himself would, after.

He sat for a while longer, in the chilly damp of the clearing. He rested his head in his hands, trying to process, wanting to deny all that had transpired. His only remaining family was sprawled at the roadside, dead. And he'd done it.

He raised his head then. It was time to deal with the result of his actions. It was time to pay the piper.

* * *

Dean was drugged into physical quiet. But his mind was still active, and he relived those moments over and over again. It was just as John had feared, just as he'd predicted. -_If you can't save him, you'll have to kill him... _At the time, he had no real idea what that could possibly mean. But he did now. Sam had slipped away. He'd crossed over, and there was no turning back. He was no longer an aid to their cause, he was a threat, maybe the biggest one short of Lilith and Lucifer themselves. Dean cried in his sleep. He wasn't the god-damned messiah, or some single minded zealot. He didn't want to make decisions like this. No one ever asked him what he wanted. If they had, he'd have told them to leave him in the bloody pit.

David sat beside him, for hours on end. He'd done all he could to help heal his injuries and reduce his pain. But he was useless when it came to relieving his deep-seated anguish. What had happened out there? What could tear someone like Dean Winchester down so profoundly, so brutally? When he would moan and frown, and cry in his dreams, David rested a warm hand on his head, or arm, or face. Sometimes he quieted, but not always. David wanted to tear his own hair out; where the hell was Sam, and what was going on?

Finally he got up, restless and needing distraction. He found the keys to the Impala and went out to park it in a more civilized manner. He walked around it, crouching at the bumper to examine the damage more closely. He'd seen what looked like blood spatter earlier, and he worried now that in the context of everything, it could belong to someone he knew. He ran his hand over the shattered headlight, and scraped at the rust coloured drops. He sniffed it, recognizing the metallic scent. It was definitely blood, and it was fresh. But he also found tufts of coarse, brownish hair in the grill. This wasn't some unfortunate pedestrian's scalp, he realized with relief. It was animal and probably something large. He guessed it was likely a deer strike. He sat back and rubbed his tired eyes. Thank god for that. The mystery of Sam's whereabouts was no closer to being illuminated, but it didn't seem to involve what had happened to the car. He got up and pulled open the door, and sat in the well worn, comfortable seat, firing her up and backing her off the emerald, perfect lawn and the hapless lamp post. He had to smile about the lamp. He always thought it was sort of tacky.

He sighed as he revved the engine. God he loved that car. She was all power and style, nothing else mattered. No wonder Dean was so protective of her. David still drove his truck, but he was aware of his neighbours' good-natured disapproval. It was an enclave of BMW's and other hot house orchids on wheels. He knew he'd probably have to trade in his country limo for something that had better optics soon, if he was going to embrace his new social status. He revved it a few more times, feeling the rumbling vibration in his seat, and in the steering wheel. A beemer might have headlight wipers and satellite radio, but it would never feel like this. He sighed and parked it.

When he re-entered the house, he was shocked to find Dean no longer alone.

* * *

Sam chanted his incantation. He knew it would work, and Ruby appeared, confused and annoyed.

"Sam, I thought we were beyond this sort of formality!" she griped. "You know, you could've just called my cell." She stepped toward him, but was stopped abruptly by the boundaries of what he'd scratched into the ground. She stared down at what held her. "What...what the hell is this?"

Sam stepped forward, his eyes glinting with menace. "This, you bitch, is pay-back!" He hauled back and struck her across the face, and she staggered, shocked from the force of it. She stared in confused anger, and held a hand to her stinging cheek. When she found her voice, it trembled. "What are you doing? What was that for?"

Sam's voice seethed with his impassioned hate. "Oh, you have no idea? You can't think of why I might be this pissed?" He slapped her again, and she recoiled, cursing him.

"Stop it, you freak!" she shouted back. "Stop hitting me! Tell me what's wrong!"

He was ready to hit her again, but he pulled back and settled himself for a moment. "You stupid, lying demon bitch... Dean was right about you. He always saw through your act. You knew from day one that this thing inside me was going to hurt good people. But you let me think this was all for the greater good, didn't you?" He paced, his anguish building. "You knew that if I let you help me, that this evil inside me would take over, that it would turn me into this filthy monster!"

"What the hell are you babbling about? I helped you grow!"

"Into what? What am I, Ruby? I killed my own brother! I crushed Dean until he suffocated, with my mind, with these so called gifts! You knew what you were cultivating in me! You lied about what it was, and how it was going to help save people!"

She seemed genuinely shocked. "What do you mean you killed him? I never taught you that! It's not how it works, you can't do that!"

He wrapped a big hand around her slender throat. "Shut up! He's dead! I left him dead at the roadside because I let the power out, and it took over! And you knew this would happen, there's no way you didn't!" His fingers tightened as he shouted, she struggled and choked.

"No! No, you're wrong! I don't know what happened, I don't know what you did, but you have to believe me! You don't have the power to do this! I swear to you, Sam!"

He released her neck. "You're a liar! We argued, and I tried to show him, but it...it took over, and I felt him die! He died by my own hand, and I wasn't even touching him!" He stepped back, distraught at reliving it.

Ruby recognized her precarious state. "No! Sam, I'm telling you; you aren't anywhere near the ability to do something like that! Whatever happened, whatever you did, it must be something else!"

He raised his head at that. "Something else? Something _else_-? What the hell else could there be?" He wiped angrily at his eyes. "It was me and Dean. And now he's dead, and I'm standing here! Stop f~~king lying to me!" He shook his head, pulling his resolve tighter. "_You _taught me to be this thing! I should have known it was wrong, I should have listened to him. Nothing good ever came out of the pit! You're going back to where you came from, back where you belong!"

She stood in horror, hopelessly trapped, as he closed his eyes and began to use the very powers she'd been coaching him in. She shuddered and started to cough. "Sam, don't do this! What happened to your brother is terrible, but it isn't a part of what we're doing! I swear it! Please! Please listen to me!"

He ignored her and raised his hand. She dropped to her knees, fighting desperately against the effect. "Don't!" she coughed. "Please don't send me back down! Lilith; she'll hurt me, she'll make them torture me! Sam, please-"

''Shut-up! Shut-up!" Sam tuned out to her cries. "You made me into this! You knew all along, just like he did!" He squeezed his fist tight, causing her to gag and shudder as the demon within fought to keep it's protective shell.

She tried again to plead her case. "Sam, you're not thinking clearly! You know I wouldn't do this! How could this help? How? I know what he means to you! If I wanted to gain your trust, why would I do something like this?"

"I don't know why!" he howled. "I don't know anything!" He nearly stopped, his arm dropped a few degrees, his concentration wavering. But he remembered the scene; he still felt the sensation in his hand. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, focusing on what he wanted to do now. He raised his arm again.

She collapsed in a weeping, terrified ball, but her pleading fell on deaf ears. She begged and cried and railed, but he kept up his assault, until the black smoke bubbled forth from her mouth and nose, and spilled from her completely, draining away with a thin screech into the earth. She collapsed against the forest floor, immobile; a mask of terror etched on her features. Sam panted with the exertion, oblivious to the stream of blood that ran now from his nose. He wiped away the tears that blurred his vision and nudged at her with his foot. The body left behind was motionless; wide-eyed and unresponsive. He had a moment of triumph, a moment of pure faith that finally..._finally; _he'd gotten it right.

But that moment was short-lived.

* * *

"Who the hell are you?" David demanded. He stood, frozen with uncertain fear, as the stranger looked up from where he sat beside Dean. The man; mild-looking, wearing a rumpled overcoat and a tie, stood and faced him. He wore an expression of fathomless sadness, of earnestness that was almost painful to witness.

"I am not here to harm." he said quietly.

David shook his head. "Well...fine, but how did you get in here? Are you Dean's friend? What do you want here?"

Castiel's expression of sadness deepened. "I want to help."

It was such a simple statement, but David felt the staggering weight behind it. He didn't know what to say, but he didn't have to. Castiel reached out and touched his forehead with a tender stroke. David slipped soundlessly to the floor in instant, peaceful slumber. Castiel turned back to Dean.

"Let me help you." he said. He made the same motion to the catatonic man's head. Dean was suddenly thrust back into awareness; so abruptly that he bolted up from the sofa, falling back with a yelp as the pain of his injuries dropped him like he'd been struck. He curled up, clutching his chest and gasping.

"Don't...don't ever do that again!" he panted.

Castiel was stricken. It seemed that every effort he made that involved this man resulted in his agony. "Please...I'm sorry. But I had to come. We are under siege, but I had to come."

Dean turned to him, tears spilled from his eyes. "You're too late. It happened. Sam turned. You're too god-damned late!"

Castiel was shocked. "What happened? Tell me."

Dean was still in the grip of the pain his abrupt movement had caused. It took him several moments to find his voice. "..He used his power on me. He...he tried to kill me."

Castiel's confusion was clear. "Sam...he did this? How? Did he beat you?"

Dean struggled to gain a grip. "No, you stupid, useless jack-ass!" he growled. "He did it with his power...with his gift!"

Again, Castiel's expression telegraphed his shock. "His gift? Sam did this to you with his mind?"

Dean turned away, nodding.

Castiel persisted. "Tell me..."

"He... We were pissed off, and we stopped the car. We were arguing, and it got out of hand. He stood there and he just...he squashed me like a frog under the tires. He never touched me. I felt it start, but I couldn't derail him, I couldn't talk him back. His eyes were glowing. They were almost red..."

Castiel stood up, open-mouthed. "This is...this is unexpected."

Dean shot him a withering look. "Yeah; it was 'unexpected'!"

Castiel reached out to Dean. Touching him lightly, he read his state through his fingertips. "You are hurt, badly. Stay with David, he can help you. I will find Sam. When I do, I will return. Dean, you must have faith; this is not what it seems-"

Dean's head snapped up at that. "_Faith?_ You've gotta be kidding me! Faith in what? That this world is a shit-hole no matter what I do? That everything I do is a waste of time, it's all gonna fall apart anyway? Tell me, Castiel; what should I be finding comfort in here?"

Castiel was silent for a moment. He nearly wept. He had answers to these questions; they were not new. But those answers felt hollow; practised and false. He felt weak and traitorous by merely repeating them now. "The Lord loves you, Dean. His plan-"

Dean struggled up to sit, furious. "Oh, he _loves_ me? Don't you shove that kool-aid down my throat! I'm just a fly in a jar to him! He pulls off my wings one day, a couple of legs the next, then he watches me crawl around in pathetic circles!" Dean lay back, exhausted and hurting. "Just shut the hell up! Leave me the f~~k alone. I'm done with all of you; threaten hell all you want, I'm already in it!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Castiel slumped again, silent; his sad eyes resting on those of Dean. All he had to offer were his stock replies. He hardly blamed Dean for losing faith. Millions of people had done so before him, for far less. And the harsh truth was; he couldn't stand to hear the stilted words come from his own mouth. He knew it was cold comfort, and he himself had moments of wavering, especially now. He needed answers, almost as much as those he tried to comfort did. And he knew that Dean wasn't himself. He was in severe pain, Castiel could feel it when he touched him. He knew Dean Winchester was no stranger to pain, and he knew that few could soldier on while bearing it more than even he. But this was different. His brother had been the direct cause of it...the brother he lived to protect. No wonder he was dispirited. It hurt Castiel to see him driven to this level of despair. It wasn't right.

He spoke now, in his gentle, calming voice. "Dean...please...I know that you are angry. You're hurt, in ways...ways I can't hope to fix. But what you've described to me is.. well it isn't what we anticipated with Sam's development. We have some understanding of his strengths, and his association with the demon girl brings him along slowly. It's not ideal; we don't know what she wants, or why, but for now, we are comfortable with that pace. But I don't believe he is at the point of doing something like this. It's one thing to purge a demon from it's unnatural host, but to cause this kind of physical damage, and to choose to, against someone he loves...I just don't think he's capable."

Dean looked away. "Well, he seemed capable enough...or at least willing. I begged him to stop, but nothing I said made any damn difference." That hurt as much as anything else he felt at the moment.

Castiel was puzzled. "..But you know he loves you. You know there is nothing he wouldn't do for you-"

Dean was silent for a moment. "..I used to. Now, I don't know anything anymore."

Castiel sat back with a heavy sigh. There was little logic to this whole catastrophe, but even in this context, Sam's willing attack on his brother was just too impossible to swallow. And it was pure tragedy that _Dean_ believed it was possible. Castiel vowed he would get to the bottom of it; if there was a chance that something else had driven him to do this, then perhaps his necessary elimination could be avoided ...for the sake of this man's shattered spirit, if nothing else. But if Sam Winchester had indeed, crossed over, if he had lost his humanity to the point of becoming a murderous monster; there was only one end to this.

Castiel rose. "I promise you, Dean. I will find out what this is. Please, don't give up on him; don't give up on us. There is more to this, I can feel it. Stay here with David. Let your body heal. I'll return with news when I have it." With that, he was gone.

* * *

David, who'd been curled up in content slumber on the carpet, sat up and yawned. He felt so good, so refreshed; it took him a moment to remember what had happened to put him there. When he did, he turned with alarm toward Dean. "What happened? Christ, Dean...I saw this guy, hovering over you-"

Dean sat, hunched, hugging his arms to his sides. He wished David would have slept a little longer. "That was... His name is Castiel, David. He's one of the good guys., or so he tells me, anyway. As far as I can see, they're all the same; just use us pathetic puppets for their own needs." He sighed. David was going to need more explanation than that. He looked up as David sat gently beside him.

"Dean, what happened out there..?"

Dean rubbed his eyes. He didn't want to get into it, but he knew he had to now. "Sam and I got into an argument on the way here. We had some...shit...to deal with. Well, it got out of hand, and I pulled over, ready to pound some sense into him. He beat me too it. But he did it with his mind, or his power, or his gift; whatever you want to call it. His _demon_ shit. I tried to calm him down...he looked so weird; he was _so_ pissed at me. But he wasn't hearing anything I had to say, he just stared at me, and his eyes...they sort of lit up, red. And he held out his arm, and that's when I really started to feel it. He was doing something; crushing me, and when I was about to pass out, I had no choice. I had to stop him. I had to-" He stopped, the pain of that memory robbing him of words.

"Go on, Dean..."

He dropped his head into his hand. His quiet voice broke. "I had to shoot him. I shot him, David. I shot my own kid brother..."

David was stunned into silence. "Did you...is he-?"

"I don't know. When I came to at the side of the road, he was gone. I was trying not to get him anywhere lethal, but I was blacking out. I don't know where he was hit, but I know he was, because the second I pulled the trigger, whatever he was doing to me stopped."

"But he was gone, when you came to-?"

"Yeah."

David tried to digest this all. Dean, attacked, nearly killed by his brother, and in this bizarre and horrible way. He knew that if Sam had been taken anywhere, injured or worse, it would have been his own hospital. "I'm going to make some calls. If he ended up being brought in-" He didn't finish, he got up and went to the kitchen, and after several calls, and some quiet conversation, he returned. He sat beside Dean. "He's not in my hospital, Dean. And he's not in the morgue. That's good news...it sounds likely to me that he left under his own power."

Dean nodded, without looking up. His chest and sides were beginning to ache with a ferocious sharpness; whatever David had given him was wearing off again and he was finding it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

David saw the taut pallor of his face worsen. "Do you need something for pain? With those fractures, you must be in agony-"

Dean leaned back, holding his ribs. He shut his eyes tightly and moaned. _Agony didn't cover it_. Finally he shook his head. "No. Wish I could have you put me all the way out, David, but I need to think. That shit makes my head spin."

"I understand."

"Wouldn't turn down a drink if you have anything strong..."

David got up and returned with a bottle. _Medicine was medicine_..."You need to eat. You haven't had anything but the glucose in your IV. You can't go on for days on that."

"Days? Days? Christ, David, how long was I lying here? " Dean sat back up, and stared at him in a panic.

David passed him a generous glass, holding it until Dean's shaking hand had a firm grip on it. "You got here over twenty four hours ago. I found you in the Impala on the front lawn. You were pretty out of it, and after I patched you up, I gave you something to put you out for a while. You woke up, but you weren't talking...just staring. I couldn't break through, and nobody I called was answering; not Sam, not Bobby. Only Ellen. If your friend hadn't come, I was going to take you in to the hospital, never-mind how you feel about them. Hell, I still should-"

The betrayal Dean had felt from Sam vanished in a rush of anxiety. "So Sam's been wandering around alone, maybe bleeding out, thanks to me...and I've been just lying here like some freaking vegetable?" He downed the contents of the glass, yanked out his tube and hauled himself up with a hand on David's shoulder. "Aw man, I gotta go...he can't be out there alone, not in his state!"

David was ready. He caught Dean as he sagged, his knees refusing to comply. "Easy! You're way too weak." He lowered him back to the couch, as Dean fought the effects of head-rush, his vision fading to darkness. He panted, sweating against the sofa-back as he felt the rise of nausea. The glass of whisky threatened to abandon him, but he managed to dissuade it. David felt his forehead, and his pulse. "I'm going to get you some toast to start with. After that, something a little heartier. Do not try to get up again, you'll only end up on the floor, and you know it."

Dean was in no position to argue. He nodded weakly. He'd let David do his thing, but after that, he was going out there to look for his brother, no matter how he felt. Castiel may be on the job, but so far, he'd been pretty damned useless. Dean wasn't about to leave Sam's fate in his, or anyone else's hands. At least, what remained of his brother. Dean had no idea if the demon within was driving the bus now, but regardless, he would deal with it. If Sam needed rescue now, it was Dean who was going to be there. And if he needed killing; well...

* * *

Sam stood there; silent and shocked, for a time. Having shared much with Ruby, it was hard to see her lying lifeless, or nearly so, now. The girl's remaining body seemed comatose. He wasn't sure at all what to do with her. He sat down beside her for a while, trying to make sense of the past hours. He saw her breathing, slowly, barely. The spark that had been Ruby was gone now, and this girl was not much more than a shell. But shell or not, she still looked like his companion. It was confusing. But when his mind turned to his brother, the confusion vanished in a spasm of grief.

..._aw Dean..._He wept bitterly; great heaving sobs of remorse and horror and grief. He didn't stop until he was so dry he couldn't shed tears anymore. He tortured himself with the imagery; Dean at the roadside, hand outstretched, bleeding from the mouth, choking, begging him to stop...

When he was shaking with chill, and darkness was complete, he got up stiffly. He wanted to return to where his brother lay, in the darkness beside the Impala. He wanted to...take him home. But the girl was still breathing, it presented a problem. If he left her here, in the woods, she would surely die. Ruby had chosen her as her ride for Sam's sake, to appease his tender sensibilities. She wasn't a living, breathing, feeling person, which he objected to her possessing. This girl had been deemed brain-dead, or something near it. Ruby might have been her most recent occupant, but whoever this was in life, she deserved better treatment. He pulled himself together and gathered her unresisting form up in his arms. He would get her to the roadside, and call 911. She'd be picked up, taken to a hospital. The mystery of her identity would occupy some doctor or bureaucrat for some time, and he would remain anonymous, at least until his own body was discovered.

She was light in his arms. She had no reaction to his touch. It gave him a momentary pang; they'd shared more than just words and ideas lately, much more...and the feel of her now... But that other, bitter memory returned. _Dean_. He had never, ever trusted her. It renewed his resolve. He'd done the right thing, sending her back. He wasn't sure what state this girl had been in before Ruby hijacked her for a corporeal vessel. He knew nothing of her story, how she ended up this way, or even who might be missing her now. But she needed care, that much was clear. He walked carefully through the brush, shielding her from the whipping branches and brambles. Finally he reached the roadside. He laid her there, by a speed sign, and took some time to catch his breath. When he was a little rested, he made the call, knowing that sirens and lights would be speeding toward her before long. And after that last act of responsibility, he left her. He walked at a dragging pace along the road. He didn't know how far he had to go; when he'd fled, he was so distraught that he simply ran and ran until he couldn't anymore. Nothing was familiar now, in the dark. He tried to remember some of the scenery, a milestone, but nothing looked the same. He simply trudged on, believing that he would eventually come to the place where the car sat, where he...

After two hours of fruitless travel, it dawned on him. He must have passed it...he couldn't have run that far. He stopped, panting from the pace at which he was driving himself. His arm was wet with blood, it soaked the inside of his elbow and ran down his wrist. It made his shirt sticky, and crusted the ragged strip of cloth he'd tied around the graze. But it had stopped bleeding. He had a raging thirst, as those who've lost significant volumes of blood do. The ditch was behind him, a guardrail keeping errant traffic from sliding into it's swampy depth. It smelled wet, and he decided to scoop some water from it, regardless of it's potability. Didn't matter, he'd be dead long before any pathogens in the dirty water could affect him.

After he drank his fill, he sat on the rail, despondent and lost. All he wanted to do now was reach his brother, collect him, and take him somewhere better than the dusty roadside. But he couldn't even manage to get that right. He'd walked and walked the same damned road that he'd left him by, but there was no sign of him, and no glimpse of the car, even in the distance. He began to cry; softly, staring at the gravel at his feet. The moon had risen high now; a silvery light shone across the open spaces, offering some cold illumination to the road. He stared, unfocused, at the stones, too tired to think of what had happened, or what to do next. After a moment, something caught his eye.

It lay in the dust; small, glinting metal, different from the surrounding shapes. He reached down and picked it up. A pendant, on a broken leather cord. An amulet, it's form unmistakable and familiar. It was Dean's.

* * *

By the time David returned with the promised toast, Dean had beaten back the waves of nausea. He opened his eyes as his friend sat down beside him.

"Here, try this first-" David said. "It's just plain.. Soup is coming next. Are you feeling steadier?"

Dean nodded, accepting a wedge of toast. He didn't feel like eating, but he knew that he couldn't go out after Sam if he was this shaky. But the soup that followed was a real help. "Thanks. Yeah, that's better."

"Good." David poured him another shot to fortify him. "Listen; you have some serious injuries...you can't expect to just bolt out of here and hit the road. You'll be a statistic by morning. You've got to take it easy."

Dean pulled up the cushions behind his back, sitting straighter and blinking away his dizziness. He ran a hand over his bandaged middle, pressing and wincing at the tender places. "So what's the damage this time?"

David sighed. "Well, I can't tell for sure without scans, but I'm sure you've got fractures on both sides; here, and here-" he pointed at the offending ribs. "And possibly a couple cracked on the back, judging from the swelling and colour. Doesn't look like there are any in series, or you'd have flail chest, and you'd have no choice but to have me drag you in or die on this ugly couch."

Dean frowned, and nodded. He pressed his palm to his breastbone with a grimace. "Hurts here."

"I figured. I think that whatever that compression was, it was all around, and it caused bone to jam against that cartilage between rib and sternum. All together, it'll keep you sleeping upright for a long time. But you have no other pain; other than the obvious? Nothing that you think could signal deeper injury?"

"No...I think everything in there is still donate-able, except maybe my liver." Dean snorted. He regretted that motion immediately. "Guess you'd better give me some tylenol or something, David. If I keep drinking, I'll be too cranked to drive."

David knew that was coming. "You don't listen to me, do you? You can't drive anywhere in your condition. You're likely to pass out at any moment and smack into a tree."

"I have to! Sam is-"

"Sam is not going to be helped by a dead brother, Dean. Use some sense! Ellen is tracking Bobby down; she'll be calling me shortly. We'll all work together to find him, ok? But I swear to god, I'll drug you or tie you to that couch if you try to get up again!"

Dean swore, and leaned back against the pillows. His eyes grew moist and threatened to betray the depth of his misery to David. He growled, swamped by rage and pain and frustration.

David watched him with sympathy. "Talk to me, Dean."

Dean took a hitched breath. -_talk to you...ok- "_Shit's hitting the fan, David. Sam went dark, just like my dad was afraid he would. I never thought it could happen, I was so sure I could somehow fix all this..." He rubbed angrily at his eyes. "If I don't get to him before Castiel does, he'll have no chance. Castiel might hold off until I got there, but that sonofabitch Uriel won't. He'll smoke him as soon as he finds him."

David shook his head in disbelief. "_Uriel?_ ...like as in...?"

"Wings and halos and the righteous sword of God himself." Dean spat bitterly. When he heard his own words, the urgency became even clearer. "David, I can't wait. I have to go out there, I have to find him first. And yeah, I know; on my own, I'll probably plow head-on into a dumptruck, so I have to ask you this; I need you to drive. It's dangerous...christ, that isn't the half of it, but I need you."

David stared hard at his friend. If those statements had come from anyone else, he'd have had them committed on the spot. But Dean was unique. He'd experienced things David prayed he never would in his lifetime, and everything he'd ever told him was valid, despite the absurdity. This was no different; it rang with a terrible truth. His stomach tightened with fear. He was no hunter; his own chosen contribution to the cause was to patch them up when they needed it. But there wasn't much Dean Winchester could ask him that he would refuse. "You got it, buddy. Give me the keys."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Sam held the pendant tightly in his hand. Of anything, Dean was most attached to this small thing, he never went anywhere without tying it around his neck. It was a miracle that Sam had happened to choose this particular section of guardrail to rest. The chances that he would have found this tiny, significant thing were... Well, it was too much for coincidence. Sam rolled it between his fingers, his mind working furiously, until the metal was warm in his hand and the leather cord was wound into a tight twist_. This was the place_. He got up, and searched the roadside for any clue as to where Dean or the car could have gone. The light was weak, but as far as he could see, there were no secondary tire tracks, nothing indicated that the Impala was towed or dragged away. The gravel was too coarse to show whether Dean had been wheeled or dragged through it. There were dark spots on the stones. He knew which were from his own blood, and the other smaller ones coincided with the place that Dean had fallen. There was nothing else. He grasped the amulet tightly, and held his closed hand against his heart. It was too much to hope for...but it seemed that the car had been driven away. There was only one way that could happen-

* * *

David insisted that Dean rest for a short while before they headed out. "I can't bloody carry you out to the car! You have to be able to walk to it, ok? That's all I ask. I'm going to try to reach Ellen, and see if she got hold of Bobby."

David went out and made his calls, talking to Ellen in low tones for some time. When he got back, Dean was asleep against the sofa arm. The wiry little dog, Mayhem, was curled up beside him, resting a heavy head on his leg, a slick and hairy lacrosse ball held hopefully between his teeth. David sat in the opposite chair, watching unhappily. He'd been in a similar position with Dean before; sitting in a quiet vigil as he recovered from god-knows-what terrors. But the difference now was stark. Sam always shared that watch. As a matter of fact, Sam was usually the one who called him. And now, he was missing, and apparently the cause of this.

"You're out of luck, pup." he said quietly. Mayhem turned his attention to him, dropping down onto the floor and rolling the ball to David's feet. David picked it up absentmindedly and tossed it down the hall. The game kept on for ten minutes or so, until David shooed him away. He switched on the television, watching the late news quietly as Dean rested. It was the usual fare; it seemed there was tragedy and misery everywhere these days. He paid closer attention when a story came up that was fairly local. A young woman was found at the roadside; she'd been taken to hospital after an anonymous tip. He turned it up a little.

Dean stirred and groaned.

"Sorry, Dean; didn't mean to wake you."

Bleary-eyed, Dean caught the flash of a familiar face on the screen. He sat bolt upright, gasped and nearly crashed again as a result of the abrupt movement. David settled him back against the sofa back. "Careful, take it slow."

"Jesus, move, David!" Dean brusquely pushed him away and watched the report tensely. He knew that face all too well. He knew the girl, or rather, the demon who'd been occupying her. He sat, squinting, at the newscast, until they moved on to other chaos., other places..

"What? What is it?" David asked, his nerves screwing tighter as he saw the effect the report had on his friend.

Dean sat, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ruby. That girl they found, by the road; she was the body that Ruby was using. They said she was still alive, but comatose, right? That's the way she was before the demon took her over. Ruby grabbed her from some other hospital, about a year ago, so Sam wouldn't bitch over her taking a healthy body." He sat back, trying to make sense of it. He voiced his thoughts out loud. "There's only one reason she was out there, in that state by the roadside. Sam would have put her there. He would have felt bad leaving her after he did it!"

"Did what? Christ Dean, you're not making this any clearer!"

"Exorcised her! Sam exorcised the Demon Ruby! If her host body was lying at the roadside, then she's got to be back in the pit! Aw man, I can't believe it-!"

David was tense and confused. He had no understanding of the workings of any of this. "Is this bad or good, Dean? I don't have a damned clue!"

Dean rubbed his eyes and frowned. "It's good. I think it is...I'm pretty sure anyway. This chick had a hold over him, David; she was pushing him to develop the demon crap inside him. If he snapped out of it and sent her packing, then maybe...maybe he's come back to normal!"

David caught his eye. Dean's expression was achingly hopeful, despite all he's suffered at his brother's hands. It was in such sharp contrast to all his hard edges, it made David want to weep. "Tell me what to do now." he said.

"We need to go, right now, this second! Wherever the girl was found! I don't give a shit about anything else; load me up with whatever keeps me going David, because I have to get to him before anyone else does. He's vulnerable now; if he ditched Ruby, then god knows who or what might want to fill the void, or worse." Dean rose, with a hand on David's arm. He had learned from the last time, and he took the time to adjust to the altitude, and to the pain. When he was steady, he allowed David to steer him toward the door.

David was terrified. But he saw the determination, the burning intensity in his friends's eyes. "Ok...ok, we'll go. I'll get you into the car, ok? Then I've, uh, shit...I've just got to do some things; feed the damned dog, call work...call Ellen and-"

Dean grabbed him by the collar. "No! Christ, we have to go now! Quit wasting time, for shit's sake; every god-damned second counts!"

David abandoned his delays. "Alright! Just the dog!" He ran to the cupboard and tore open a bag of kibble, scattering it on the living room carpet for Mayhem, who was sure that Christmas had come early. Water was a non issue since his preference was to dip his muzzle into the toilet when thirsty. The good Doc grabbed his phone, hooked Dean's arm over his shoulder and helped him outside. They climbed into the Impala and tore out into the late evening's waning light.

* * *

Bobby Singer was a simple man at heart. And long ago; a lifetime, it seemed, with his lovely old house and lovely young wife, and a thriving business that fulfilled him; he could afford to be. But simplicity fled his life on a fateful day long past, and it stole away with it his peace and happiness. And when it abandoned him, it left only miserable complication in it's wake.

Bobby was tired. He was more than tired; he was worn out on a level that tears could not do justice. He'd had to do it again, step in and rescue the Winchester boys. That was old hat, he didn't regret it; they were all connected on levels that none of them could ever put adequate words to. But this time, he'd had to shed a good friend's blood to do it; he'd taken a blade and stabbed Dean. He wasn't filled with any post mortem regret; it was necessary thing, and effective. Hell, it saved their hides. But it was hard, nonetheless. Dean's expression; fleeting, of betrayal, of fear; well it cut him to the quick. He knew what role he played, even if none of them ever voiced it. John was dead and gone now, but he had lost his way long before that, and Dean especially was bereft of any real paternal figure. He'd lionized his Dad, but it was Bobby who filled the real void. And to see the brutally unnatural scene of those boys in mortal combat, trying to kill each other out of jealosy, out of fear, out of hate...well, it hardly mattered the cause, the result was the same. Bobby never wanted to witness that again, but deep down, he knew he would. There was going to be a violent reckoning between those two; one where the very polar forces of good and evil would finally tear them apart. He didn't know how, or when, exactly. But he knew it was an ugly certainty.

Once he'd left them, once he was sure that the siren issue was dead and dealt with; he fled home to the relative peace and sanctity therein. And once again surrounded by that safety and normalcy, he decided to award himself a well earned bender. Hell, he'd earned it. He usually kept his drinking to a minimum; it was too easy to descend into the bottle as a way to deal with what he knew and saw on a regular basis. He was aware of a dozen hunters who lived like that, and he would never count himself among them. But sometimes circumstance dictated life, if for a short time..

He poured out three days of kibble for the dog and made sure he had enough water. He drove out and picked up a boxful of chips and other crap for sustenence, a collection of stupid mindless comedies on dvd, before buying his last and most important supplies from the liquor store. And when he had everything he needed, he bolted the door, turned off his phone and barricaded himself against everyone and everything. The world could screw-off for a while, because Robert Singer was off the clock.

* * *

The intensity of hope radiated from Sam like heat waves from a desert road. He was afraid to open his eyes, in case the tantalizing possibility evaporated. He whispered out loud, a fervent prayer, one that he'd been afraid to even think before. -_please, let him be alive...let him be ok...please, God_-

He stopped when he heard something overtake the sound of his own whisper. It was quiet, an odd little noise that he felt in his mind, more than heard. Laughter. Quiet chuckling. He whipped around, alarmed, but he saw that he was alone, no one was behind him, it was he alone at the abandoned roadside. He stood still, straining to hear, until finally he was convinced that he'd imagined it. Nothing reached his ears but the whine of a few mosquitoes, and the distant lowing of cattle somewhere ahead.

It was time, now. He almost didn't want to make the call, in case the news was bad. But he gathered his nerve and dialed David's number. After a ring and a half, his screen went black. He swore, and shook it uselessly, as if he could bully it back to life. But the battery was hopelessly dead. He knew it was nearly spent when he'd called to report the girl's body. That seemed to take the last of what it had. He sighed, slipping the phone into a pocket. He didn't know what to do now, he had no idea where he was, or how far civilization might be. He was dead tired, weakened from blood loss, and had an overwhelming urge to just curl up to sleep in the weeds. But the spark of hope that his brother was still alive flamed bright within him, and he had to know.

He thought for a moment. The cows he'd heard; there must be a farm nearby. He decided to head in the direction from which the sound came; if there were cattle, then there was a barn, and more importantly, a house. He could call from there... Buoyed by that thought, he set out.

* * *

An hour later, Sam had tripped and stumbled across the closely shorn stubble of an endless cornfield. He stood in the quiet night, eyeing the barn a few yards ahead. The building radiated the potential of comfort and rest, the cows were all in their stalls for the night, content and lowing occasionally. The lights were on in the lower part, but Sam was pretty sure that no one was still labouring within, not at this hour. Above the warm, steamy stalls, the hay mow was quiet and dark. Sam crept forward and carefully slid the big wooden door aside a little, as silently as he could.

The interior was velvet blackness, pierced weakly here and there by the light from below, or the twinkle of illumination from the yard light through the dusty cracks between the barn siding. The space was stacked high with small square bales; fragrant and dry. Pigeons cooed softly, high in the rafters, as they jostled for position on their roosts. Sam made his way along the central aisle, reaching a louvred vent at the end, through which he could peer at the farm house. It too was dark, the family had retired hours ago. He wished he had some idea of time-with his phone dead, and no watch, he could only guess. He knew that this was a dairy barn, and as such, the cows below would be milked in the early morning, starting before sun-up. He wasn't sure how much time that gave him, but he was exhausted, and his thinking felt fuzzy. He was also pretty sure of the type of reception he'd get if he showed up on their doorstep now, shocking them awake in the dead of night, and presenting a frightening vision of a gory, unkempt stranger begging favours. He'd probably get a load of buckshot in his ass. And he also knew that there was one occupant of the house that was clearly aware of his presence; a large-sounding dog was tied in the yard, and it barked and strained at the end of it's tether at the threat it could smell. Sam had no intention of stumbling within it's range in the pitch dark. He would have to wait until morning, when he could get a look at himself and tidy up before approaching anyone.

He sighed, realizing how tired he was. He fumbled around in the dark, and found the wooden ladder that formed part of the barn structure. Climbing to the top of the neatly stacked bales, he crawled over the prickly, sweet scented surface, and when he felt he was in a safe corner, he pulled a few out and formed a little wall around his hollow, just enough to be a visual barrier to any casual glances from below. His arm was throbbing mercilessly from the graze he'd received from Dean's bullet. It would need attention, but he couldn't remedy it now. He settled into his warm nook, he just needed to rest his tired eyes for a little while, then he could figure it all out. He was spent, and his weakness won out, he fell asleep immediately. He never heard the noisy rooster's call at dawn. He never heard the whistling farmer walk from the house to start his morning chores. Even the loud, tinny buzz of the radio in the milking parlour below fell on deaf ears, Sam was just too depleted to be refreshed by a short nap, he slept soundly through it all.

Castiel watched him while he slept. He wore a puzzled look. He'd expected a duality when he looked at Sam Winchester. Judging by the incident between he and his brother, the demon in him had apparently grown strong, strong enough to hate, strong enough to make him want to kill even his own kin. It should have been a visible distortion by now, a piece of ugliness that couldn't hide it's link to Hell. But as he stared at the young man, there was nothing of that. All he saw was a simple aura of a human being, nothing indicated the evil that was supposedly pulsing in his system. And yet, he knew that they were not alone here. Something was near, something dark, a frightening unknown that unnerved the angel. He stayed in the shadows, invisible, trying to understand.

* * *

When Sam finally rejoined the living, it was well into the evening. He awoke with a start, as something soft brushed across his eyelids. He jerked away and sat up, alarmed. His visitor was even more startled, cringing back in fear and hissing defensively. It was a barn cat, calico. She was a tiny little female, and it was obvious that she was nursing a litter somewhere. Sam made comforting noises and she relaxed again, arching toward his outstretched hand and allowing him to stoke her back. His touch brought an immediate and appreciative purr. She stood on tiptoe, walking tight figure-eights around his fingers to maximize the contact. He couldn't help but smile. Finally, when she had enough attention, she turned away and headed into a crevass between the bales. He could hear her kittens mewling as soon as she disappeared into her den.

He stretched and yawned, wondering what time it was. When a second look through the vent revealed an evening sun dropping toward the horizon, he swore in dismay. He couldn't believe he'd been out of it so long, he'd lost a full day, and he berated himself for it. If Dean was alive somewhere...if David knew where he was, he'd lost precious time in getting back to him. The thought gave him a pang of intense anxiety. What was he going to say to him..? What could he say? Nothing could fix this-nothing. He wished to god he could turn back the clock. But he needed to know that he would be alright, no matter what his reception would be. He needed to somehow, impossibly, undeservedly-be forgiven. And he needed his big brother now more than ever. More than he'd thought lately, that much was certain. He shut his eyes, remembering how superior he'd felt. He remembered what he'd said, accusing his brother of what amounted to cowardice. Weak, that was what he'd called him. God. What an ass. He hated himself for it, for all of it. He was terrified by what had happened, how he'd let loose his power on Dean, and kept it up until he was dead, or nearly so. He didn't want to remember, it had felt so... Nothing. It had felt like nothing-he had started out angry, as angry as Dean was. He was fully ready to get into it with him by the roadside, but when the rest of it started, he remembered no feelings of rage, or anger, or anything. It was like he was drugged, anesthetized-watching passively on the sidelines as something else took control of the wheel. He saw and felt his hand reach out, he saw what it did to Dean. But he couldn't stop it. He'd stood by and let it happen, and he wouldn't have stopped if Dean hadn't raised his gun and...

Images and memories flooded back, and he was gripped by a panic. He had to get to the phone. The light in the hay loft was too dim, he hopped down to the barn floor and assessed his appearance by the glow that filtered up from the stairwell. He quickly smoothed his hair, pulling out errant bits of hay that had tangled in it while he'd slept. He dusted off his face, and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. His tee- shirt was spattered with brown spots of dried blood, there was nothiing he could do about that. He pulled his jacket closed and zipped it up. It was the best he could do. He sure hoped that canine sentinel in the yard was reasonable. He took a breath and prepared to walk toward the house.

With one hand poised to pull the door open, he was suddenly startled by a voice behind him.

"Hello."

He whipped around, and stammered a reply. A young girl stood there. She was freckled, smiling warmly. Her short, page-boy hair was pulled back in two barretts, each sporting a sparkly pink butterfly. Her jeans were muddy, her shoes equally so. "Uh..hi-"

She turned her gaze toward the stacked hay bales. "Are you here to see the kittens too? Mr. Evans said I could come visit them whenever I want."

Sam was still rattled by the suddenness of her appearance, and he was anxious to get to the phone. "Um, no, I just came by to ask a favour. Did you say his name was Evans?"

She nodded. "Uh huh. His first name is George, but I'm only supposed to call him Mister. Whatcha going to ask him anyway?" she smiled, standing now between him and the big door.

Sam reached over her head and pulled the door open a little. He wished she'd waited fifteen minutes before her little visit. He could have avoided her then. "I need to make a call. Hey, you go ahead and play with the kittens. I really have to-"

The door ripped out of his hands so quickly that he was left with some wicked splinters in his fingertips. "Hey!" he protested.

She pouted at him. "You're not leaving already, are you? It's more fun when there's some one to play with...and I love playing with you more than anyone, Sam"

He blinked, and stepped back. "How do you know my name? I never said it." He stared at her now, his heart suddenly racing. There was something about the kid; something off. She stared at him, and her eyes slowly changed. They became solid now, featureless, like milky opaline glass.

She giggled happily. "Oh, you're so silly. Don't you recognize me? It's me, Lilith!"

* * *

"Sorry...sorry, Dean, it's just a really rough section of road." David winced, very aware of the effect the bouncing ride had on his companion. Dean was hunched against the seat. He kept his arms wrapped tightly around his middle, and his grunted curses were ground out through clenched teeth as he squeezed his eyes shut. The jolting sent vicious, sharp pain through his ribs; it was wearing him down fast. He felt sick, and David could see that he was sweating heavily. He pulled over for a moment. Dean opened his eyes. "David, what the hell are you doing? we don't have time-"

David sympathized. He knew the need for urgency, but he couldn't keep doing this to Dean; he would be so worn down by pain by the time they'd located Sam that he'd be unable to deal with the crisis. "Listen, you can't keep this up. Just take a minute, Dean...rest. I've got a couple of painkillers here, I think you'd better take them."

Dean hook his head in refusal. "No, David. I can't, I told you; I need to stay clear-headed."

David refused to accept it. "Come on Dean, look at yourself. Do you feel clear-headed right now? Jesus, I can see the tears in your eyes every time we hit a pothole. You can't do anything like this; you've got to ease the hurt or you'll pass out before we reach him. You can barely sit up, for christ's sake!"

Dean glanced at him miserably. It was true. He could hardly breathe, and the bumpy drive sent grinding pain through his middle, through his back; pain so intense that his vision blurred and he couldn't help but moan. Defeated, he nodded and accepted the pills. "Pass me the water under the seat."

David undid his belt and leaned down to retrieve it. When he sat back up, bottle in hand, he felt a brush of gentle touch against his forehead. It was all he felt. He slipped soundlessly against the door, unconscious, the pills and water falling to the floor. Dean turned carefully to see what he already knew. "Cas."

Castiel nodded. "Yes. Your friend David is a good man. But he would be in the way."

Dean knew the angel was right. David meant well, but he was no hunter, and Dean wanted no harm to come to him. "Did you find him?"

"Yes." Castiel rarely wasted words.

"Well where is he then?"

"Come with me. Your brother is in danger, Dean. Lilith is with him."

Dean snapped to sharp awareness. "What? And you left him with her? Why didn't you-"

"There is something strange here, something I can't go up against without understanding more. I need you to help me." Castiel got out of the back of the car. He pulled Dean gently but firmly up, as David snored peacefully in the driver's seat. Dean staggered for a moment, but he found his equilibrium. He made his way to the trunk, and pulled some trusted things from its depths, loading his pockets with salt, weapons, a crucifix. There wasn't much else worth carrying, and even these meager items were probably all but useless, but he'd feel naked without at least this small amount of protection. Castiel stood by, a melancholy darkness in his eyes.

"I don't know how this will go, Dean...I don't know how tainted your brother has become, and I don't know Lilith's purpose. She knows as well as we do that she can't affect him directly. What part she played, if any, in what happened between you two is still a mystery. But I said before, there is more to this. I watched him earlier, before she came. There was something else there, I could feel it, a presence. It was different from what I've come to expect."

Dean was leaning against the car, willing himself to stay strong and alert. "Something else...like another god-damned demon? How many of these filthy things have to have their hand in the same pie?" he spat.

Castiel shook his head uncertainly. "No. Not a demon. I would be able to sense that, and perhaps purge it. This is something unknown to me."

Dean glared at him. "Great. That's just freaking perfect." He leaned into the car and pulled his precious keys from the ignition, locking the slumbering doctor in safely. "Well, do your wing thing, Castiel, or how ever you do it to get us there. Demon or not; whatever the hell it is, Lilith and it aren't getting Sam gift-wrapped. They'll have to go through me first!"


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sam's heart was instantly in his throat. He backed away from the little girl in front of him. With the sun setting rapidly, and the door held closed, the light in the hay mow was growing dim, and it was becoming harder to see. Her outline was blurring into shadows, but her eyes; her terrible, vacant eyes, glowed with a cold intensity. "You! " he whispered.

She giggled again, and responded in the sing song voice of an eight year old. "That's right. Oh, I so wanted to see you again. Especially alone. I'm glad you squished your brother, Sam. It was fun to watch. ..And I liked it when you said all those mean things to him. I laughed and laughed, especially while he was crying." She leapt forward and wrapped her little arms around his middle in a fervent hug. "I knew you would, I just knew it. He was so stupid. I didn't like him at all, the cheater. No fair to get out of hell. Not supposed to happen."

Sam pulled away, breathless with fear. He tried to pry her skinny arms away from his body, but they were little bands of iron. He struggled against her hold until she dug her nails in, tearing through the layers of cloth and piercing his skin.

"Oh, don't run away, please Sammy! You always run away. I like talking with you. You know, we shouldn't fight. You're like my big brother...we should play games together. Do you know any games, Sam?" Her question was posed with such saccharine innocence, it was sickening. Sam had no choice but to cease his resistance, for fear of the depth to which her little nails would pierce.

He ground out his answer. "No! No games. No playing. Leave me alone, Lilith. I'm not falling for your crap now. You have nothing to offer me anymore, and I have no reason to listen to you."

She pouted again, and struck an exaggerated and theatrical pose. Her arms dropped away from him. "Are you sure? Maybe I want to be best friends for ever. Maybe I want to stop the end from coming, just like you do. What about that?"

He was shocked by that. He stammered a response. "Bullshit! You started this thing. Why would you want to stop it now?"

She sighed, a petulant frown crossing her little face. It was unnerving to hear her words uttered in that child's voice. "Oh ...It was such a nice idea. Break the seals and let him loose. All the fun, all the screaming and terror and blood... it would have been wonderful, Sam; like Christmas and Easter and Birthdays every day! But they've been whispering to me, Sammy; the other, older ones. They told me that it won't be the way he promised. He's lying to me, I won't really get to be queen. He said I would, but they all told me he says that to all of them. They told me that when he's free, he'll be strong and he'll kill all the people and then, when no one is left, he'll get bored. When he can't find any of them to hurt, they said he'll turn on the rest of us. I don't like that, not one bit. But Sammy, you and I are the same, you know. We're both strong, but he's stronger. If you weren't against me anymore, then I could stop breaking seals and we could play up here for ever, you and me. So much to do up here... All we have to do is stop fighting and everything will be normal again. I thought I wanted to change things, but I think I was wrong. Lucifer is a very bad lord. But he's still chained, he doesn't order me, not now anyway. Not yet... If he gets loose, he's gonna be powerful, and real mean. I want to see that, but when it's all over, I don't think I'll like him being free after all, Sam. And I know you won't."

Sam didn't know how to respond. Could her overture be real? He doubted it. Her sole purpose had been to facilitate the apocalypse, she'd had ample time to think about the repercussions. Why the hell would she want to put the brakes to it now-? "I don't believe you."

She stepped back and glowered. "Do you think I'm a big fat liar?"

He had to laugh at that. "A liar? Yeah, a liar, a murdering bitch, a heartless piece of demonic garbage, you name it. I'm not throwing in with you, you can forget that. You and I are NOT the same, and we'll never have the same agenda. So you're scared of it, are you? Well, too bad. You started this, but I am going to finish it; me and Dean. You'll be smoked along with every other piece of demonic crap that tried to capitalize on this thing. Oh, there will be a new order all right, but Lucifer, and you, and all the rest of your pack, you won't be living in it!"

She fairly hissed at him. Her expression in the weak light was twisted and horrible. "You and Dean? You don't mean big brother Dean, now, do you? I watched you crush him to death. I watched as you turned your demon power loose on him until he was choking on his own blood and begging you to stop. Do you really think he's even alive now? And do you really think that if he was, he'd be willing to help you now?"

It was a well placed blow. Sam had no defense; he didn't know Dean's status, he didn't know if he was alive or dead, thanks to his own actions. She saw the stricken look on his face and smiled acidly. "You killed your own brother, Sammy. You murdered God's little soldier. You already threw in with us."

* * *

Castiel had spirited the two of them to the farm. Dean was all heart, but under the circumstances, he was flagging. The angel set him down some two hundred feet from the barn, but once back on terra firma, Dean staggered and slipped to his knees. He struggled to rise, but found he didn't have the strength to get up.

"You can't go on, Dean; not like this."

Dean raised his weary head and quietly answered. "..Not like I have a choice."

Castiel's dark eyes shone with emotion. Humans...they were so driven by these things; love, hate, honour, loyalty, some far more than others... "Let me help you."

Dean snorted. He was nearly empty of hope. "How?"

Castiel laid a warm hand on Dean's head. "I can bear some of this for you. All you have to do is let me."

Dean wasn't sure what he meant, but he was naturally resistant. He swatted the hand away. "Get lost, Angel-boy. I'm not that easy."

Castiel persisted. "I can carry your pain, Dean. At least some of it. You are too broken to continue, I should have seen that. Let me lift the weight of your burden."

Dean stared at him with distrust. "Cas, what the hell are you saying to me?"

"I'm saying that I can carry your pain, at least for a while." Castiel couldn't put it more plainly. He didn't wait for an answer, he laid his hand again on Dean. He closed his eyes. Dean stopped resisting, he felt a warmth flood through him, comforting, healing. The relentless ache of his fractured ribs washed away, and he stared up at Castiel, shocked by this sudden deliverance.

"Well I...hell, that sure worked!" He got up and stretched gingerly, testing his newfound health. "Why didn't you ever do that before?"

Castiel turned away. "I needed to stay strong, for my own battles. I couldn't afford to be weakened."

It dawned on Dean then, what he meant earlier.-_carry your pain- _"Cas, tell me you aren't feeling this now! Tell me you didn't just switch it out to yourself!"

Castiel shrugged, and winced. But he spoke matter-of-factly, retaining his characteristic passive manner. "It is my perogative. I'm stronger than you are. And I need your help with Sam, and you couldn't function in your state of suffering."

Dean was horrified. The idea that Castiel had taken on his pain somehow filled him with a gut-wrenching guilt. He knew all too well what the angel must be feeling now, and he couldn't stand the idea. "No! Jesus, no, Cas! Don't do that! I was just being whiny, it wasn't that bad. Undo this, you shouldn't have done it-"

"Shut up, Dean." Castiel smiled wanly. "I told you, I'm stronger than you are. And I need you to be useful."

Dean stammered a further protest, but Castiel raised his hand and cut him off. "Focus, Dean." he whispered. "There are greater problems here. She's in there, I can feel it. She'll sense my presence if I come any closer. You have to get a look in there and tell me what's happening."

Dean nodded, tense now with worry for Sam. He scanned the outline of the barn, seeing the door at the top of the earthen ramp. There didn't seem to be any other entrance. He crept closer, feeling his way along the wall in silence. He stopped and retreated when he realized that they were right in front of the opening. There were spaces between the barnboards, but he couldn't see either of them from his angle. He made his way around to the opposite side, and peered through. Sam was there. Relief washed over Dean; his brother didn't look like he was desperately hurt, and he was talking angrily to a small girl who stood beside him. Her featureless eyes glowed with an eerie cold light. Little bitch! So she was here, and had apparently commandeered another kid's body for her purposes. He swore silently. They'd have to figure out how to deal with the demon in some way that left the child unharmed. It took everything he had to stifle the urge to fly in there and snatch Sam out of harm's way, but he knew that it would be suicide. He needed Castiel by his side, at least to keep her occupied while he grabbed his brother. He made his way back to the angel.

"Yeah, they're in there all right. Sam looks ok, so far. They're just talking. She's in some kid, I don't know what to do about it yet.."

Castiel nodded solemnly. "Did you see anything else? Were they alone?"

"I only saw the two of them. Why, what are you expecting?"

"I...don't know. But I felt something in there with him earlier. I need to know if that's the bigger worry."

"Worse than that demon bitch? You've gotta be kidding me!"

Castiel sighed, clearly discomfited. "I can't pierce the veil it's hiding under. But there is definitely another presence. And I don't know what it is, but if I can't see it, then it's something out of my realm. I may not be able to affect it, and I can't fight what I don't know, Dean."

Dean was shocked to hear that there were other threats, things that existed in places where angels and demons had no meaning. "So, this thing you sense...it's not part of it all?"

Castiel turned and met his eyes. "There are layers, Dean. My Lord is one of them, He is powerful and good, but there are others. You know this, from your own experiences. Long before the Coming, there were gods that ruled the land, the sky, the water. Pagan, for wont of any other description. These things still exist, they still rule where they choose to, despite the spread of the Word. The masses may choose to believe one, or some other, it doesn't matter. Rejecting an ancient god for a new belief does not make it disappear. They are out there. And I am powerless against them, if they choose to act."

Dean knew what Castiel spoke of. He and Sam had come up against ancient beings before. But it was an eye-opener to learn that they operated beyond the jurisdiction of what he knew as God. Somehow, he'd thought that his god was the Big Cheese. But then; he realized, every religion felt the same thing. We're Right. We pray to the True Lord. We and we alone know the Truth. It was a farce. There was no One True Faith, there were hundreds of them. But nevertheless, he had no choice but to work within these parameters. Their current battle was between his christian God and his nemesis, Lucifer. It hardly mattered right now that there were other things out there standing in line to stir the pot. He huffed with an anxious annoyance. "Ok, fine. Something else is hanging around, on top of all of the rest of this crap. Beautiful. But Cas, I can't battle shadows any more than you can. And right now, my stupid brother is in that bitch Lilith's grip. I have to do something. I can't wait for your shadowy 'presence' to show itself, I have my hands full with what's right in front of us!"

Castiel took a moment, and nodded. "Go then, listen to what they're saying. It may give us some advantage."

Dean agreed. Once again, he crept around the perimeter of the building until he had a decent vantage point. He leaned against the pitted old planks, straining to listen as he peered through the cracks. He could hear them arguing. He could hear Sam's defiance, his refusal of her. He couldn't quite make out the nature of their debate, but Sam's adamant rejection of whatever it was she proposed was as clear as day. It buoyed his soul.

But it all changed in an instant. Dean was about to return to Castiel when he suddenly found himself pulled up, scraping over the rough, weathered old boards, hauled higher and higher. The pressure was brutal, it flattened him with a powerful force against the wood, he couldn't even find the strength to yell, before the weak old planks splintered and gave way under the force. He was flung into the interior of the barn. Disoriented, and shaking the wooden debris from himself, he tried to get up, to roll away from whatever threatened him as he lay sprawled on the threshing floor of the barn. But he found himself pinned to the floor.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lilith turned away from Sam, and focused her attention on the struggling figure on the dusty floor. "Ugh!" she growled, as if confronted with something disgusting; a filthy insect that had invaded the perfection of her pleasant evening. She'd just told the idiot that he'd killed his brother, and now here he was, sticking to her like a tick on a dog. Sam turned and followed her gaze. Despite the gloom, he immediately recognized the person held to the boards now; he stood in open-mouthed shock for a moment before shouting his name-

"Dean! god, Dean-!"

Dean caught his eye for a second. He struggled furiously against the hold that kept him there. He was covered in wooden chunks and splinters of the shattered barn boards, they'd been scraped into his skin in countless places when he was dragged through the siding and he was flecked with spots of blood. He turned and shouted desperately, "Sam! Sam, get her away from me! Do something!"

Sam wasted no time. He focused all his energy on her, raising his hand and envisioning her violent removal. He was so consumed by the effort that the blood welled and streamed from his nose and flowed down over his chin. He was nearly blinded by the sudden and intense headache he felt; his efforts drained him and he felt himself weaken. But it halted her temporarily, which was a good sign. Dean felt the pressure lift, and he rolled away, out of sight, against the stacked bales. He scrambled up and back toward the hole from which he was pulled. - _get to Castiel_- But he didn't have the chance to make it through.

"NO!" Lilith screamed. She shrugged off Sam's attempt, as if shaking raindrops from a soaked umbrella. His power was strong, but still not nearly enough to halt her momentum. "You puny flea!" she seethed. "You think you can stop me? You're weak, and useless, weighed down by all your insipid 'conscience' and 'morality'! " Her little stolen body heaved in angered gasps, she was beside herself now. "I gave you choices, Sam Winchester! I gave you a very smart option! But you still refuse me! You're stupid and arrogant! Oh yes, you're right, neither of us has any real power against the other directly! But that's where we differ, Sammy! That's where you show your achilles heel! You can't stop me, and I can't hurt you and you know it!" She was spitting with fury, her eyes burned with a malignant intensity that was terrifying to witness. "Oh yes, oh yes; I can't hurt you," she snarled, "But I can hurt _him_!"

Dean had scrambled out of view. He huddled against the bale wall in the dark, his mind racing. He wished he had some way of alerting Castiel, but at the moment he was forced to stay silent and invisible, in order to avoid detection. He pressed himself desperately against the bales, in hope of staying under her radar while they argued. He knew that Lilith wasn't able to kill Sam now, she'd said so herself; his power was strong enough to be a barrier to her efforts in that regard. He strained to hear them as he hid.

"Leave him alone!" Sam growled. "I swear to god, if you hurt my brother I'll-"

"You'll what? " she sneered. "You'll cry? Protest? Offer me your worthless life?" She laughed, an ugly, grating tone. "Sam, Sam, Sam! Methinks he doth protest too much! You tried to kill him yourself, remember? Pretty lousy effort, if I may say. Look at him; here he is, still underfoot, all gung-ho to save you from little me, even after all the pain you caused him. Tsk, if that ain't pathetic love, well, I don't know what is!" She chuckled coldly, it sounded like shattering ice. "You have such a crack in your shield, Samuel. It's so, so easy; I feel bad even using it." She turned away from him. Her eyes glowed more strongly, her attention directed back toward where Dean was last seen.

Dean, secure and hidden for the moment, suddenly found himself dragged by unseen forces away from his safety, across the boards and out into the open. He clawed against the wood in desperation, as his nails broke away; his fingertips tearing against the hard, century-old oak. He screamed the names of anyone near who could help him; Sam, Castiel, over and over as he was pulled into the centre of the floor. He was flattened there, in the weak light; pressed hard against the dusty, rough surface, as Sam strained to stop it, and Lilith laughed wih self-satisfied mirth.

"Don't!" Sam howled. "Don't do it! Talk to me, I'll listen, I swear!"

Lilith sneered and laughed. "Oops, darn...too late. God, this is fun! Go ahead, Sam, use your precious power...why don't you stop me now?" She turned her glowing, empty gaze toward Dean, as he struggled hopelessly against the force that kept him captive. She was a smug cat with a battered mouse, and she toyed with him lazily, using her power to roll him around the barn floor. It wasn't the brutality he'd expected, but it was humiliating. Dean was helpless to stop it, he cursed her loudly and colourfully as she kept him him motion, scraping him over the rough wooden planks as he grasped in vain at anything within reach to halt it. Lilith kept up her laughter; childlike peals of giggles. She was very pleased with herself.

"Hurry up, Sam. You see how nice I'm being? I'm giving you a leg up...I'm not hurting him at all; all you have to do is stop me before I get bored." She concentrated a little harder, and the space within the hay mow became illuminated with a cold greenish light. Sam could see his brother clearly now as she continued to pull him around the floor like a mop. It infuriated and terrified Dean, he caught Sam's eye, and growled "Sam, outside! Find Castiel!"

Lilith's eyes narrowed. So the angel was here too. That changed things. Unlike Sam, who was less than her equal, the angel did pose a threat to her. It angered her, and her humour vanished. Sam was growing red in the face with the effort of opposing her; he couldn't keep it up much longer, and even then, it hardly had any effect. She turned back to him with an exaggerated yawn. "Aw Sam...you ruined it, you're so slow and weak that I'm already tired of the game. Too bad." Her smile turned ugly, and she waved her little arm in a dramatic gesture. Dean's ridiculous rolling stopped. He raised his head, and managed to gasp the words again before she struck.

''Go get Cas! Now, Sam!"

But instead, Sam tried harder, he clenched his teeth and roared, focusing every ounce of energy he had on Lilith in his desperate bid to stop her. But still, it had so little impact that she didn't seem hampered at all. She sneered and turned from him dismissively. Dean had no chance to scream as he was suddenly lifted from the floor and thrown against the stacked bales. He hit them hard and fell to the floor again, rattled and bruised. He swore, and tried to crawl toward the broken hole in the siding, but she hauled him back and threw him, again and again. It was death by a thousand cuts; the sharp stalks protruding from the tightly bound bales tore his skin on impact each time; the stacked walls had a solidity that absorbed very little of the impact, and he was winded and punch-drunk. Once again, he pleaded desperately to Sam. "You can't stop her! Go get Castiel, now!"

Lilith knew that the day was done. With the angel lurking in the shadows, she thought it best to wrap up her game. She turned back to Sam. "Aw, too bad, Sammy. But remember; the important thing is that you tried, and we all had fun!" She giggled and levitated Dean. He was a battered mess, and he could hardly keep his grip on consciousness. She suspended him in front of Sam for a moment. "Say bye-bye."

She lifted Dean again; flung him with such a force that he struck the heavy collar beam far above, a bloodied ragdoll against the sturdy old oak. He gasped as his back crashed against the edge of it. Vertebrae crushed, he fell back down to the floor, like a graceful swallow struck by a car and plummeting lifeless to the roadside.. He clawed at the boards, trying to move away, to find safety, but he couldn't.

Sam stared in shock at Lilith, who stood with arms crossed, smiling sweetly. The young hunter abandoned his efforts against her, and scrambled to his brother's side and dropped to where he lay. "Dean! oh god, talk to me!"

Dean tried. His words were cut off as the pain swamped him. He curled up as much as his body would let him, as his vision darkened and sound faded to blurred tones. He could swear that the beam was still wedged hard against his back; he could feel it, and everything felt wrong. The haymow around him faded into the distance as he clutched at Sam, aware of nothing but fear, terrible fear, and a mounting agony.

* * *

The angel could hear the events happening within the barn walls. He was wild, desperate to stop it, but he was prevented from moving. A figure stood with him; smiling, blocking his path with a confident stance.

"Relax, Rocket Robinhood! They're fine in there. Young Samuel's just learning a few things, a bit of a humility-refresher."

Castiel was nothing but a soft handed accountant to this being. He had no power over it. He pleaded with him. "Please...you don't understand! Both of those men are pivotal in the coming times, there is a terrible battle growing-"

"Oh I know all about your fight. And I know those two knot-heads; I've had run-ins with them a few times. I really should hold a grudge, I guess, but I kinda have a soft spot for them."

They could hear the screams and shouting from within the barn, the eerie light spilling from between the cracks in the barn siding. Castiel strained in the grip of the physically stronger figure. "A soft spot? How can you say this? You're killing them, can't you hear it?"

"Just a few more minutes. It takes a fair bit of pounding to get the message into their thick skulls. You oughta know that."

Castiel was near tears. He could do nothing as the horror unfolded; the figure held him tightly and his struggles were in vain. All the while, his adversary chuckled in good humour. Castiel worked to free himself. "What good is the lesson if the pupil is dead? Tell me that!"

"Well, aren't we a drama-queen? You need to lighten up, buddy."

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why now?"

The figure chuckled again. "Because it's what I do. Nothing personal, you know. It's just that when I see somebody that needs to be knocked down a peg or two, I just have to do it, can't help myself. Plus, it's damned good entertainment! At least, I think it's a blast, anyway."

It dawned on Castiel then. A creature bent on correcting the pride and vanity of man, for it's own pleasure. A being far removed from the realm of his own god, and the devil. "Loki! You are Loki!"

The being laughed now. "Wow, you're dating yourself there, Cas. I haven't been called that one in, well, centuries. But good eye. Nowadays they call me Trickster."

Castiel twisted away from the arms that held him, and the two of them ended up on the ground.

Trickster pinned him again. "Would you cool your jets? I'm actually sort of on your side here, you know. At least today."

"How?" Castiel cried. "By torturing them? By killing them? You say you know this fight! Don't you know who that is in there with them?"

Trickster smiled widely. "Oh, I know exactly who is and who isn't there. Now:" He did a slow, deliberate countdown from five. The sounds had ceased within the building and when he reached number one, he released the angel. "Go, Fly, Castiel, Lilith needs a spanking and you're the only one who can do it. Sam, I think, has figured it out by now that he hasn't got the chops for it yet. Hopefully he'll remember that before he jumps in over his head again."

Castiel bolted from the ground and raced into the barn. He stopped short, his rumpled coat swirling around his knees. The scene that met his eyes was appalling. Weeping, Sam hovered over his broken and bloodied brother, who was sprawled awkwardly on the floor, immobile, wide eyed and gasping what seemed to be his last breaths. The angel wasted no time, he flew at the child, grasping her before she could flee. But Lilith had expected his arrival and she didn't wait on ceremony; instead, she fled her little host before the angel could put an end to her existence. The hated black filth screamed out of the poor girl, curling up and out into the night, a twisting worm of smoke speeding away to it's next unfortunate vessel. The child sat up, whimpering in fear and confusion. Castiel touched her and put her into peaceful sleep, and turned to the Winchesters.

Sam lifted his tear-streaked face. He cradled Dean's head as the elder brother gripped his arm weakly in silent spasms of agony. "It's too late...you're too late. I couldn't stop her, she won. He's dying!"


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Castiel was stunned. -_This is not right_- He had his orders; he was deeply linked to these two young men and they had roles, destinies that he was entrusted to facilitate. Nothing about this made any sense. He knelt beside his charge, and spoke to him gently. "Can you hear me, Dean? It is Castiel."

Dean's hand continued to clutch Sam's arm, tightening and releasing every time the hurt worsened. He gasped in the grip of shocking pain, it tore through him from the small of his back, where he'd struck the beam edge. He lay tense and still, but he blinked, and made a sound that indicated he did.

Castiel glanced at Sam. "What did she do to him?" he asked softly.

Sam was quietly sobbing now. "She threw him, over and over, and he hit his back on the beam." He carefully lifted the clothing to reveal what he'd already seen. Castiel's eyes grew moist, and he turned away. The damage was obvious. The livid, bloodied welt across his spine, the misalignment...there was no mistaking it. Sam carefully drew the clothing down, and Dean's grip tightened again. His breathing was laboured, increasingly fast and shallow, they could see that his distress was building by the minute.

Sam wiped his eyes, remembering. "I tried to stop her. I tried everything, but it didn't make any difference! And while she was bashing him, he kept telling me to go get you, but I didn't listen, and now-"

"Sam, even if you'd found me, it wouldn't have helped. I knew what was happening. I could hear it, but Loki was with me, keeping me from coming to you."

It took a second for him to absorb that. Sam looked up. "Loki?"

"Yes. The Trickster. I felt his presence earlier, when I was watching you." Castiel left it at that.

Dean gasped as a strong, uncontrolled spasm shot down his legs. The agony of it left him moaning. He met Castiel's sympathetic eyes, and when he could speak, he whispered. "Put me out Cas, I can't take any more, please-" A second spasm struck, and he squeezed his eyes shut and cried. He knew his wiring was scrambled; his brain giving urgent orders to move to safety, but his legs responding only with spastic twitching.

Sam shook his head in disbelief. On top of all this, that creature was here. "Why? Why would he keep you from helping? Why would he care?"

Castiel frowned. "I don't know. He kept me until Lilith had finished with you, then let me go. He said it had to do with you, Sam."

Sam stared at him in shock. "With me? He let this happen, and it was for some reason that I'm supposed to understand? No! Aw christ, no!" He covered his eyes and wept bitterly. "This was all my fault! Everything, all because I thought I was so god-damned strong! I thought I knew everything, that I could handle my power, and Lilith just laughed."

Castiel was silent. He was confused, and it tore him apart to see this thing play out. Nothing had prepared him for the events of this day, and no revelation was forthcoming. It was a terrible blow to the cause, it was madness; miserable, and cruel.

A cheerful voice spoke behind him. Both Sam and Castiel turned, startled. "And there it is. Sammy, congratulations, you win the prize! It took a ton of bricks, but it finally got through that solid bone head of yours." Trickster stood with his arms crossed, chuckling good-naturedly. "Godamighty, I can't believe the stuff I had to arrange just to get you to figure out your limits! That was some ego you were growing there, Bullwinkle; it was gonna cost you your life, and nearly did for poor Rocky there."

Sam blinked. A deep growl rose from him, and would have flown at his smiling enemy, if he hadn't been supporting his unconscious brother's head. Castiel held a cautioning grip on his shoulder and shook his head in warning. "You! You vicious sonofabitch!" Sam railed through his tears. "You brought this on? Why? Isn't all this hard enough? Why did you get involved in this again? It has nothing to do with you!" He broke down, but he continued. "You watched me bring this all down on him! You helped me do it! And now Dean is...he's-"

Trickster stopped smiling for a moment. "Sam, you were going off the rails at high speed. You're right; this all has nothing to do with me, it isn't my battle. But like I said to the bird-man here, as insane as it is; I kinda like you boys. I have no idea how this thing of yours will end, but I don't want to see you fail because of your own screwed-up heads. You needed a wake-up call, and I was happy to give it to you."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. ''A wake-up? You used his life to humble me? This is how you help us?"

Trickster crouched beside him, glancing down at Dean where he lay. "Yeah, I gotta admit, it was a little rough on him this time around, wasn't it? My bad. But Sam, you already know how this works. I try to teach you something, you take bloody forever to pick up on it, mayhem ensues, but in the end, I step in and make it all better." He smiled broadly at them all, highly impressed with his own cleverness.

It dawned on Sam. He held his breath, afraid to believe it: "Are you...are you saying you'll fix this? You'll let him walk away from this?" His voice ended in a strangled whisper.

The Trickster stood up and laughed. "Yeah. I suppose. But first, Sam, I want you to repeat what you learned here tonight. You tell me what the lesson was, and I'll make it all good again."

Sam rubbed the tears away and drew a deep, calming breath. He'd have done anything to reverse this now. "That I was full of myself. I'm not ready to take Lilith on, and I don't know my own strength, this power is stronger than I am, and I can't control it...yet." He stared back at him in misery. "Are you happy now? Will you help my brother?"

"Yep. Good boy, you got it right. You missed the part about listening to older, wiser people, but I'll give you a mulligan on that." He stood and looked around the scene within the barn, then raised a hand, ready now to restore a kinder, gentler reality.

* * *

It was the most inopportune moment for Uriel to arrive. The powerful angel appeared, and instantly launched his heavy frame at the Trickster. The creature was caught wholly off guard, and the two tumbled hard against the floor. Trickster struggled like a snared cat, but Uriel overpowered him. He may have been incapable of affecting him in other ways, but the angel was more than his match in physical strength.

Stunned by the development, Castiel leapt to his feet. "Uriel, No!"

The big angel shoved him away. He managed to hold his adversary down, and he growled to him; "You pagan filth! You have no right to interfere in my Lord's business!" He gripped his powerful hands on the pagan god's throat, while he pinned him with his knees to the boards. Trickster struggled harder, and was about to use his power to conjure up an army of defenders, but Uriel had come armed. The angel kept one hand pressing brutally on his throat, the other slipped into his jacket and drew out a short spear of stout oak. With a grunt, he shoved it as hard as he could through the Trickster's chest.

The creature gasped in shock. He screamed, and his form dissipated in a haze of energy, leaving nothing but echoes and the sound of startled wingbeats from the rafters.

Castiel grabbed Uriel by the shoulder, shaking him violently. "What have you done? What have you _done_?"

The belligerent angel shook him off. "I saved your sorry neck, that's what! You saw that thing! It was an enemy of God! You were in danger-"

Castiel was seething with fury. "No, you're wrong! He was not an enemy; he was merely different! He was deeply involved in this; he was about to render this nightmare over! This terrible thing would have been undone!" He paced, holding his hands to the sides of his head, bewildered and horrified. "You've made a hideous mistake, Uriel! You've altered the course, you've doomed Dean, you've doomed us all!"

Arrogant and unrepentant, Uriel stood his ground. "You are blind, Castiel! You consort with pagan gods, you act in forbidden ways to help these glorified monkeys! Oh I saw it; I saw your sin when you took on that one's pain earlier! You have no right to act in such ways without revelation! You know it's not permitted, and why! You weaken all of us when you allow yourself to be diminished in this way! You're straying, Castiel!You're the loose cannon!"

Castiel's usual solemn demeanor evaporated. He roared a string of strange words at his compatriot, hauled back and struck him. "You stupid sheep! You hide under this mantle of so-called duty! Our whole focus is to help these two in their destiny! That is revelation! But you've done nothing but harm!" He turned his back to Uriel and crouched again beside the brothers.

Sam was shaking his head, stunned. He could not believe that the rug had been so cruelly pulled out from under them. "Castiel, tell me he didn't kill him! Tell me he sent him away somewhere, that he'll come back!" he begged.

Castiel shook his head miserably. "I don't know if the Trickster is gone, Sam. I only know he isn't with us now, I can't sense him."

Sam stared at him in horror, then dropped his gaze to Dean; his vision blurring as he wiped bits of hay and flecks of blood away from his brother's pale cheek.. "Castiel, please..." he whispered. "Please...do something, anything. Give him a miracle. Trickster's gone, it's the only chance he has left now. For the love of god, heal this! Don't let this stay this way!"

Castiel's expression grew mournful. He glanced in the direction of Uriel, who stood watching, arms crossed and frowning. When he turned his gaze back to Sam, he was filled with grief. "I can't."

"Can't? You _can't_?" Sam demanded. "Are you sure that's it, Cas? Or is it that you won't?"

Dean stirred, moaning and shifting against him. Sam stroked a hand over his hair, waiting until he quieted. He hissed the rest. "My brother has done every damned thing you forced him to do. He never asked to be part of this, but you and your great leader dragged him in anyway. And look what it earned him! His f~~king back is broken, Castiel! You saw it, and you know damned well that this would have been reversed if your partner there hadn't come and screwed it all up! What is he supposed to do now? Fight the Apocalypse from a stryker bed? Chase Lucifer down in a wheelchair? Was that all part of the Great Master Plan? Tell me, oh great _Angel-of the Lord_!"

Castiel didn't begrudge him his bitter reaction. He was bitter himself. But under the antagonistic scrutiny of Uriel, he couldn't offer Sam what he begged for now. It shocked him that Uriel was privy to his relieving Dean's pain before. He'd hoped that his small offense could stay under the radar; a little 'white' sin that could be forgiven and reversed when Dean was stronger and better able to bear it. But even if Uriel wasn't there, he couldn't do this now. To even think of doing so was a serious transgression. And yes, he didn't need Uriel to remind him of the reason. He already knew it all too well. His hands were tied, and Uriel was there to make sure he abided by the rules. Castiel rose, and steeled himself. He was forced to do something that he wished he could avoid, more than anything. He hated himself, hated his circumstance. It shattered his heart to pull back now, but he had no choice.

"Sam, I am sorry...so sorry. I wish it were different. But I am bound by rules, and they are there to keep the company of Angels strong; strong enough to defend against the Enemy. I can't heal Dean. Unless I have divine orders, I am forbidden to act. I'm prevented from interfering in this world on my own."

Sam stared at him in disbelief, the pain of this betrayal etched deeply in his expression. "Castiel, don't! Don't toe the party line now! You know that without Trickster, Dean will die, or maybe even worse, he'll live; confined to some institutional bed. You said yourself this makes no sense! You are the only one who can change any of this now!"

It struck Castiel deeply. He knew that what Sam said was true. He turned and stared at Uriel, beseeching of him some measure of sympathy, some understanding. But Uriel shook his head. He spoke sharply: "Castiel! Stay the course! You know what is necessary; there is tragedy everywhere, don't let your emotions rule your actions!"

Castiel withered in defeat. His shoulders sagged, and he raised his dark eyes and met Sam's. "..I'm sorry. Sam, I am so sorry...you can't know how much." He turned away from them, and knelt beside Dean. He touched his face, and whispered softly. "Forgive me. I will return... I will; I swear on my life." He closed his eyes and did one last act; he brought a suddenly wakeful and confused David into their midst. He turned to the doctor. "David Bowman, please, listen to me. Dean is gravely wounded. I must entrust him to you, I ask that you do all you can for him." It was the last thing he said, as he and his fellow soldier vanished.

* * *

David stood, transfixed and baffled. He'd been abruptly thrust into consciousness; all he remembered was slipping into comfortable slumber in the car, although that made no sense at all. He absorbed the scene around him, and when he realized that it was his friend lying prone on the barn floor, while his brother held him, weeping, he snapped into action.

"Sam!" He dropped to Dean's side, and went into emergency mode. He checked the patient thoroughly, and when he'd assessed the situation he allowed himself an emotional response. "Christ, What the hell happened? Aw no, Dean!"

Sam broke down again, the strain of it all was brutal, and it took it's toll. "It was Lilith, David. It all came down to her. I started it all, I brought this on his head. She finished it."

David was reeling, but his training held strong. "Sam, where's your phone? I need a cell!"

Sam shook his head. "It's dead."

David swore. He had left his in his coat, in the Impala. He carefully checked Dean's pockets. He felt a phone, and flipped it open, and when the strong signal showed, he huffed in relief and cast a glance at Sam. He dialed 911.

* * *

They waited for what seemed like eternity for the ambulance to arrive. Dean stirred from time to time when the pain pierced his unconcious state. The arrival of the paramedics, the drive to the local hospital, all of it was a blur to Sam. The only thing he remembered with a crystal clarity was Dean's short scream when they transferred him to a backboard. When he got to the facility, there were endless forms, countless questions, and a web of lies to keep straight. It was all he could do to keep the house of cards standing. He hardly had the emotional or mental capacity to answer, all he could think about was Dean's state, his prognosis. He waited in sweating anxiety as his brother was taken into the bowels of the hospital. He spent hours and hours pacing, and sitting in uncompromisingly hard plastic chairs, drinking cup after cup of tasteless, bitter coffee. Finally, a haggard looking David returned to the waiting area.

He sat down, and bade Sam to do the same. Sam's gut tightened; he could tell from his friend's expression that the news was not at all good.

"Sam..." he began. But David was more than merely the attending surgeon, he was a good friend, and he choked on what he had to say. "Sam...it was... There wasn't much they could do. He suffered a grievous spinal injury. It's been stabilized with rods, and pins. I wish to god it were different, but there's not much chance that neural function will be restored."

Sam knew what he was saying. He buried his head in his hands. After a time, he pulled himself together. "What's going to happen, David? He'll survive this, right?"

David nodded. "Yeah, Sam. He's got multiple issues right now, with the rib fractures, and the lumbar trauma. But these won't kill him. But I have to warn you..." He stopped, needing a few moments to collect himself to say the rest. "This is the reality. He's never going to walk again. The vertebrae were crushed, the neurological damage was severe. Sam, do you understand what I'm telling you..?"

Sam sat, wide-eyed and stunned. After a moment, he answered. "You're saying he'll live, for starters, David. And as for the rest... jesus, I don't know how to react, yet. I have to see him-"

David cautioned him. "He's still under. He'll be in ICU for a while. Sam...when he wakes up, he'll have questions...he'll want to know." David couldn't continue now. This wasn't an anonymous patient, it was a friend, it was Dean Winchester, for god's sake. They sat in silence for a while.

It was Sam who spoke first. "I don't know what to say to him." There was far more to that statement than David could know.

David met his eyes. "Sam, I hardly do either. But you and I will do everything we can to get him through this, and help him to move on. And Ellen will be here soon. She was going over to Bobby's first, to see if she can find out where he is. If she locates him, she'll bring him too. Between us, he'll have plenty of support. I won't say it'll be an easy time... If I know Dean, he can deal with alot of things, more than anyone; but this...this is different." He sighed, exhausted and miserable.

Sam nodded in silence. After a while, he addressed his own uncomfortable questions. "David, you said... he hurt his ribs. I saw he was wrapped. Was that because...was it something that I caused?"

David had to tell him that it was. "He drove to my house after what happened between you two. I found the Impala on my front lawn in the morning, Dean was passed out inside. I got him in, got him tended. He wouldn't let me take him in for x-rays, but yes, he has a number of fractures."

Sam dropped his head. He was too tired and wrung out to cry anymore, but the guilt was a painful knot in his chest.

David squeezed his shoulder. "I know, Sam...there's a lot to talk about, later. But it will have to wait for a while. Best thing you can do is put that away for a while and just be there for him. "

Sam nodded. -_If he wants me- _


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Castiel accompanied Uriel. There were always other battles to be fought, but somehow, he knew that nothing was more important than their protection of the Winchesters. That one thing had been told to him clearly. Nothing since had been clear in any way. Uriel was insisting that he apply himself to some new, different issue, but he found it nearly impossible to care, in light of what was happening to Dean. His distraction was not lost on Uriel He barked at him to snap him out of his reverie.

"Castiel, you are becoming a liability! Pay attention to what I am telling you!"

Castiel shot him a bitter glance. "I hear you! Why is this more important than what's happening with the brothers? You seem to wish failure on them!"

"You think so because you're no longer objective. Listen to me: I have seen, and experienced far more than you have. We all know that you've weakened before. You've acted to save individuals, without orders to do so. And now look at you; you're lessened. The fight we face is jeopardized when you waste your power to save these minor creatures, and you know it. I have never done so, and look at me; I am stronger than you, I can be counted on in battle. You were once the same."

Castiel looked away. Uriel was right. He had, on several occasions, used his means to aid people who were suffering. But the power an angel held was finite, and whenever one of them spent some measure of it, they were forever reduced in strength. He knew why it was so forbidden; if they all acted individually, they lost more than just solidarity, they lost real strength, and their company's abilities in battle could be compromised. And when fighting against the Devils own, they could not afford any cracks in the armour. Castiel remained lost in thought as he accompanied his partner. -_Give me guidance, then_-he prayed fervently. _-I know I should be there with them now; please, Father, give me your blessing to do so-_

But no instruction came. No blessing. There was only the impatient voice of Uriel, urging him to hurry, to fly further and further from what held his head and heart right now.

* * *

Sam sat beside the bed. He was a knot of nerves. He waited anxiously for Dean to stir. And he dreaded it even more. How in god's name could he talk to him..? How could he tell him what his future was going to be? What words could he possibly say that expressed his sorrow for causing all of this? All his life, Dean had willingly placed himself in the line of fire. But this time it was Sam who put him there, and this time he wasn't going to get up and walk away from it.

He was exhausted, but he didn't pull over another chair and blanket, as he usually did at his bedside vigils. He sat bolt upright, loaded with caffeine, refusing to be asleep when he came to. David joined him when he could. He'd heard from Ellen, she was an hour away from Bobby's, and she was anxious to hear what was happening, and worried about locating their friend. It was uncharacteristic for Bobby Singer to be incommunicado, but Ellen knew what he'd had to do with the boys and the damned siren, and she had quiet suspicion as to what he was up to. She didn't share it with David, but she knew he'd done it once or twice before.

Sam watched him as he lay on his side, breathing quietly. He had the urge to spill his guts and beg forgiveness while Dean was asleep. Maybe he'd hear it, maybe it would be ok... It was a coward's way out, he knew it. He sighed, knowing that it could go either way. Dean always forgave him when they fought. He might offer him a cuff to the head, but he always grudgingly absolved him no matter what. But it was different this time. It wasn't a few stitches, or wounded feelings. This time it was life-altering. And this time, it was not poor judgement, or an accident. Sam had hurt him through will and intent, and when the dust settled, the legacy he left him was profound and terrible. He felt like throwing up.

He's spent another hour in that state when Dean's eyes finally fluttered open.

"Dean..." Sam spoke gently. "Thank god. I'm right here, tell me what you need."

Dean licked his dry lips. He stayed silent, and blinked through the fog of waning anesthetic. Sam smiled at him, and placed a tentative hand over his brother's. Dean drew his away and shut his eyes.

David rushed in at the call button's alert. "Did he wake?" He checked him over anxiously.

"Yeah, for a minute. He drifted off again."

David hovered close. "Dean, can you hear me?"

Dean whispered a yes. He opened his eyes again and tried to focus.

David continued. "Dean, do you remember why you're here?"

He squinted in confusion, but nodded. He finally spoke. "How'd it go?"

David cast a glance at Sam. "Your injury is stable. Surgery went as predicted."

Dean frowned. His thought processes were frustratingly out of phase. "Heavy anesthetic-"

"What do you feel?"

Dean frowned again, his confusion deepening. "Nothing. Can't feel my feet right. Feels like my legs are twisted around, can't straighten them-"

The look on Sam's face screamed volumes. He wanted to hug his brother; he wanted to run far away. David knew he was incapable of handling this thing now, and he took it upon himself to carry the load.

"Dean, you're just out of surgery. You need to rest now. Sam is here, he's been here from the moment you were brought in. We can talk later, about everything. Ellen's coming to see you, and Bobby too. What you need to do is push this button if you start having pain, alright? The nurses will take care of you."

Dean was shaking off the cobwebs slowly. "What's with the crowd coming? It's not a freaking wake-" He shifted in the bed, and his expression of disquiet deepened. "David, something's different. It feels weird, like only half of me is waking up."

David turned to Sam. Sam had a hand clamped to his mouth, he shook his head as tears welled.

David took charge of it. "Dean, what do you remember?"

"I don't know...Sam and me, arguing, waking up at the roadside, fighting Lilith in the barn-"

David quietly pressed on. "Do you remember why you're here in hospital, Dean?"

Dean rubbed his eyes. "I was thrown, all over the place. I hit something."

David sighed. "That's right. You hit something, Dean. You hit an oak beam. You've suffered a lumbar fracture, and severe neurological trauma."

Dean was gaining clarity. "Speak english, for christ's sake David!" he said in irritation.

"Dean..." he failed to finish.

Sam looked at David as he struggled. He took over the role that was his, and continued. "Dean, you broke your spine, badly. You damaged your spinal cord. You have paralysis, at least for now. We don't know yet how permanent."

Dean blinked in disbelief. He stared from one to the other, but neither was showing any signs that this was some tasteless joke. Finally, all he could do was demand, "What the hell are you saying here?"

David answered. "We put rods into your spine, to stabilize the fractures. But we couldn't undo the damage. Dean, you have paralysis...you have no control past the point of your injury. We know you have limited feeling and no motor control at present. But it's too soon to know what your prognosis is. "

Dean blinked. He stared in disbelief for some time. "no...NO!..Bullshit! You're full of crap! David, you're wrong! This can't happen, not now! I'm supposed to-" He turned in bewildered horror to Sam. "I'm supposed to keep his ass from frying! I'm supposed to save the whole freaking world! Ask the Angels, for christ's sake! This can't be happening now!"

He was in danger of hyperventilating, David tried to calm him. "Dean, you're weak, just out of surgery. You need to rest, for now. We'll all talk, good and long, later, ok? There's still a lot we don't know, and the next few days will tell us more. I know it's hard, but try not to dwell on this right now. You need your strength to heal."

Dean grew more distraught, his voice failing him. "Don't dwell on this? You're telling me I'm some kind of cripple, for god's sake! This is crazy, this can't be right! Where's Cas, I need to talk to Cas!"

Sam laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Dean, It'll be ok, we'll get through this-"

Dean shoved it away. "Don't touch me! Don't talk to me! Just get the hell away, Sam! Christ, haven't you done enough?" He was finding it hard to breath, he broke into a sweat and blinked hard, and he began to feel faint. Various monitors had begun to beep in alarm, he pressed his face against the pillow and his eyes fluttered closed as he passed out.

"David?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"It's ok, Sam. He's too weak for this kind of emotion right now. I'm going to sedate him. I'll meet you in the waiting room."

* * *

When David returned to the lounge, he found Sam, sitting in a tight ball on the floor, rocking, with his back against the wall. He was staring wide-eyed at nothing. He looked up as David sat beside him.

"What am I gonna do...? He hates me...he hates me, and I deserve it. David, how am I going to fix this?" He dissolved into tears.

David put an arm around his shoulder, and pulled him against his own. Sam wept against it, his big frame heaving with miserable sobbing. David just held him, he had no words of comfort to offer now.

* * *

Ellen approached the yard. Her headlights illuminated the dog, and it snarled in a threatening posture to her arrival. She parked and got out, and Rumsfeld recognized her. His demeanour changed instantly, and he rolled onto his back for the requisite scratch. She noted the huge pile of food, scattered now in an unkempt ring around the bowl, and the copious amount of drinking water. It was obvious that Bobby had prepared the dog for a few days absence. She unclipped him and knocked.

"Bobby?" She waited for an answer, and got none. The dog barked, and she shushed him. "Where's daddy? " she asked him. He whined and scratched at the door. Ellen knew that it was safe to enter; Rumsfeld would have shown if anything was amiss. She was sure she would find him inside, and she was sure she knew his state. She opened the door and turned on the hall light. The house was in its usual chaos; thick with dust, and strewn with books and dishes. She called his name, and she heard a grumbled complaint. She found him on the sofa, surrounded by empties and potato chip bags. Some idiotic comedy was blaring on the tv. She switched it off and stood in front of him with arms crossed.

He looked at her sourly. "Didn't you get the memo? Mr. Singer is OUT."

Ellen frowned her most thunderous expression. "Shut up, you sot. There's things going on, and your presence is required. Now get up and get into the shower."

Bobby did not rise. He sighed, and reached for the bottle on the coffee table, but Ellen beat him to it. "Dammit woman! You just can't take a damned hint!"

"Nope, never could. Now you listen to me: the Winchester boys have landed in a mess of trouble. They need you now, so get your skinny old ass in gear; I'll be driving us out there."

Bobby waved a hand unsteadily. "I already know all about it. Who the hell do you think was there to rescue their sorry backsides? Me, of course. You're too late, Uncle Bobby already fixed it all. Now go away and leave me alone, I'm on vacation!"

She capped the bottle and tossed it. She sat beside him and made sure she had his attention. "Listen to me. Dean is hurt. He needs all of us now."

Bobby cut her off. "Bull! All I did was prick him with a little pig-sticker! If he's whining about it, it's cuz he's being a baby, and I suppose he never bothered to add that it saved him from caving his brother's head in! I fixed it already, I told you!"

"Stop yapping!" Ellen rebuked sharply. "It's not about the siren, this is something else. They had a run-in with Lilith. Sam's ok, but Dean-" She had to pause. When she found her voice again, it had lost it's aggressive tone. "Dean is in hospital, in Georgia."

"Georgia?"

"Yes. David Bowman is out there now. The boys were on their way to see him when it went down. Dean..." she sighed. "Dean broke his back. He's in a bad way, Bobby; it looks like he's paralyzed."

Bobby sat still. He blinked several times, his mouth dry. "Lilith? Dean is..?"

"Yes. David said he was thrown against a barn timber, and it shattered his spine. They don't know the extent yet, but so far, he can't move. Bobby, he really needs his favourite Uncle with him now."

Bobby was still well under the influence. His normally wry manner was absent and his face crumpled. "Aw no...no. Not him, not that boy! Jesus H. Christ! How can this happen to somebody like that ? What the hell is going on these days-!"

Ellen couldn't help but choke up herself. But she regained her composure with lightning speed, though her voice remained quiet. "Yes, it's a bloody horror, Bobby. But we can be there for him, for both of them. So how about we get you up and ready to roll?"

Bobby nodded. His grizzled cheeks were wet, but he rose and made his ungainly way upstairs. Ellen distracted herself by brewing some strong, black coffee. Once Bobby had showered and donned fresher clothing, he was more himself. The two of them had a mugful in silence. Bobby's mind raced as he sipped at his; -_how could this happen_? And so soon after he'd left them... _where was Castiel and his boss? _Finally he spoke. "What do you know about it?"

"Not much. David called me and told me. Everybody was trying like mad to get a hold of you, but you were on vacation, as you say."

He looked up, guilt-stricken. "Aw shit! Do you think-"

"No; get that out of your head right now. There was nothing you could have done to stop this. Last thing we need is another weeping mess that's wandering around catatonic with guilt, when that boy needs strength around him."

"Sam.."

"David said he was beside himself, that he thinks it was all his fault. Maybe it was or it wasn't, but from what I understand, the whole fiasco was brought on by the Trickster. And just when he was at the brink of returning things to the way they were, one of those idiot Angels appeared and either did him in or scared him off."

Bobby absorbed that, and sighed deeply. "How's Dean taking it? Have they told him yet..?"

Ellen put her cup down and rose. "They just did. And predictably, he's devastated. And angry.. Come on; we need to hurry up."

* * *

Dean was asleep for a long time. He was turned at three hour intervals, but he would never know how many times it was done before he awoke. David's was the first face he saw when he regained consciousness. Once all the requisite questions were answered, David let silence reign until Dean was ready to talk. He did, finally.

"So..?" he asked.

David knew exactly what was contained in that one small word. He had already thought his answers through thoroughly, but it didn't make it any easier. He told him the truth. Dean was never one to accept the soft approach; as always he wanted to know the facts, now; and no bullshit, thank you. David did his best to fill him in in plain english. When the lengthy conversation finally ended, David asked him if he wanted to see Sam, who was waiting anxiously in the lounge. Dean shook his head.

"No...no, tell him...later. I just want to be alone for a while."

"I understand. But Dean, keep the knowledge that he's here 24 hours a day, to support you through this. We're all here for you. I know you're angry, you're in pain, and you're feeling a million things that none of us can begin to understand, but don't shut yourself off, ok? Let him in...talk to him."

Dean was about to break down, and he didn't want David to witness his pathetic crying. He nodded to get him to leave.

* * *

When he awoke, several hours later, he had visitors. He groaned when he saw the ring of concerned faces hovering over him. "Yay. The glee club is here."

Ellen stroked his hair briefly, withdrawing her hand when he scowled at her.

Bobby pulled up a chair. "Well;" he started. "I talked to David, and a slew of other white-coats. I guess you know where I'm going with this."

Dean finished it for him. "Yeah. No hope. And next comes the pep-talk, right? Life isn't over, there's still alot I can do, it'll just take time, and adjustment, blah blah blah. It's all bullshit, Bobby. My life is over. It sucked before, but I never thought it could go down the toilet _this_ way."

"Aw honey-" Ellen began.

Dean cut her off. "Thanks for coming Ellen. Would you do me a favour and get me a coffee? Black. No wait, double double, or maybe something like one of those flavoured cappuccino things; that'd cheer me up."

"Sure. I'll be right back."

When she was gone, Bobby turned to him. "You hate those things."

"Yeah, but she'll make it her mission to get me one, and since she won't find it in this place, she'll be gone for a while."

"Ah. So talk to me, Dean."

Dean sighed. "Not much to say, Bobby. I'm looking at the rest of my life in a chair, so they tell me. Did David give you the details of what happened?"

"I got a rough idea. If you're up to it, I'd like to know the whole story."

Dean filled him in on everything. When he was done, he was tiring, and Bobby could see that he was hurting, in more ways than one. It did indeed look like there was nothing they could do; with Castiel's reluctance to intervene, and the Trickster dead, or chased away. He sighed sadly and patted Dean's shoulder. "Christ Dean, this is a lousy thing, I ain't gonna lie to you. I wish to god there was something I could do for you, but you and I both hate bullshit, and I guess that you will just have to forge on. I got nothing to offer you; no magic words. Only that we're here for you, and whatever you need, you got it."

Dean was fading. He nodded, his voice breaking. "Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

When he was sure Dean was out, Bobby left and found the lounge. He was floored by what he'd learned. He'd seen the relationship sour some between them already, but the idea that Sam had turned his demon power against his brother was too hard to accept. The rest of it; well, that was Lilith's doing. But he needed a long heart to heart with the younger Winchester. The threat was brewing within him, and Bobby needed to decide for himself whether there was enough there left to try to save. Dean had unfailing devotion to that cause. And look how that turned out...

Sam wasn't there, but Ellen was. She was seated, drinking from a plastic cup, her eyes red rimmed. Bobby sat beside her. "Found your cup of red herring already?"

She snorted. "I'm not stupid, Bobby. I know when to be scarce." She wiped at her eyes angrily. "Did he talk?"

"Yeah. This is...pretty damned complicated. He's pretty mad at his brother, and I understand that. But it ain't in character for him to hold a grudge. I expect that he'll soften toward him again; just don't know how long it'll take. Problem is; we need him. This thing isn't gonna take a holiday while he gets healed and gets his head straight and life figured out."

"Mmm."

Bobby looked around the room. "And we need Sam equally. It"ll kill him if Dean pushes him away. He needs forgiveness, in his mind anyway. I don't want him going awol and trying to go after Lilith on his own, to assuage his own guilty feelings. That's just what she wants; she can beat him now, while he's still vulnerable. And I never thought I'd say this, but that demon-girl Ruby was one constant we might miss in this. Whatever her motive, she was making him a stronger adversary for Lilith. Where is Sam, anyway?"

Ellen sighed. "He left to do some research. He's going crazy, he's choking on remorse and I know he can't deal with Dean's hostility. He just needed to do something useful."

"What was he looking into then?"

"Loki lore. Anything involving stories about a Trickster character through history. If the good angel won't step up, and his prayers stay unanswered, he's determined to find some miracle somewhere else."

Bobby grunted. " I guess we don't know for sure if that bastard is dead; might as well chase that angle. Hope he doesn't look anywhere else..."

"He won't, Bobby. He saw what kind of 'help' he got from below. He knows nothing from Hell comes without a steep price."

"Amen." Bobby nodded. -_Or heaven, it seems-_


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

They'd done all the tests. Medicine had advanced remarkably, new techniques and methods were being developed all the time, and David made sure that no avenue was left unexplored. But there was no thwarting the ugly reality. Dean Winchester was going to face life as a paraplegic. Bone could heal, muscle, skin...but nerve connections, once severed, they stayed that way. There wasn't going to be any miracle. David chose a time when they were alone to break it to him. He wasn't sure how he would react, people always dealt with these things in such varied ways. Dean heard him out, and said nothing for a while. Finally he nodded. He had no questions, David had been thorough in his explanations. He waited in patient silence while his friend absorbed the news. Finally, Dean spoke.

"Well. Guess that's it then. You gave it your best shot David, I know that. Just my lousy luck, I guess..."

"Once you're stronger, Dean, with rehab, you can-"

"Yeah." he sighed. "Yeah, I know. I can be a happy, productive cripple. Just save it, alright? I know what you're going to say. You and I both know it's bullshit. That may work for the rest of them, but things are a little different here." He looked away for a moment, his expression hard. "I'm supposed to save the world, David. They told me I'm supposed to stop the Apocalypse, for christ's sake. How does this fit into it? Can you tell me that?"

David couldn't offer any comfort or wisdom now.. He didn't understand this. He understood the randomness of fate, or fortune. Nobody could predict the paths their life would take, but Dean was special. He did have a divine mission, and this terrible thing shattered all his faith now.

Dean sighed again and turned to him. "I'm sorry David. I shouldn't take this shit out on you. Nothing you could do."

David sat with him for a while. He knew Dean wouldn't accept anything more than his simple presence as support, but he wanted to embrace him, to do something to help him bear this. He settled for a lame patting of his shoulder, but Dean stared at his hand with an expression that radiated irritation, and he withdrew it. "Tell me what I can do for you, Dean. Please; I don't want to crowd you, but you've got to know I'm here for you. We all are."

Dean softened for a moment. "Yeah, David, I know. I appreciate it. But it doesn't change anything. I just have to figure this out on my own."

David had to leave. "Sam's outside. Do you want to see him?"

"I guess. Might as well get the melodrama over with."

* * *

Sam entered the room, his discomfort acutely evident. He sat down beside his brother, and waited for him to speak. When he didn't, he took a shaky breath and started. "Dean, did David talk to you, about...everything?"

"Uh huh."

"You ok?"

Dean snorted. "Oh yeah, sure Sam. Nothing I can't handle. I'm still here, lucky to be breathing, right? Nowhere to go but up from here."

Sam squirmed. "Dean, I-"

"You what? What, Sammy? Just drop it, alright? We've got bigger problems than this right now."

Sam was shocked. Despite everything, Dean still put himself second to everything else. "No, Dean. There's nothing more important than this. We've got to get Castiel to make this right again, or find Trickster-"

Dean turned to him with barely contained hostility. "Just shut up, will you? Stop living in fantasy land; this isn't something you can fix. And I think you're missing the big picture just a little. We need to come up with some strategy for Lilith, and the rest of it. It's a little different now, with you literally in the driver's seat."

Sam stared at the blanket for a moment. "Dean...things can't happen like that now. You need protection, you can't head out into the storm like before."

"Bullshit I can't! I'm not a freaking vegetable, Sam! I'm not useless!"

"Dean...nobody said you were useless, but you have to be realistic..." Sam said quietly. He knew he was treading dangerous ground now. "You can't walk-"

"Yeah Sam, that's right!" Dean snapped. "I can't walk. I also can't run, I get to piss into a bag strapped to my useless leg from now on, I'll never take a hot chick home with me, and I'll never, ever drive my f~~cking car again! So don't sit there with your dewy, puppy eyes, trying to protect me now, begging to take care of me just so you can sleep at night! And don't you dare even dream of taking off to try to do the rest of this shit on your own! Don't you think of leaving me! You put me here, you sonofabitch; if you think I was a weight around your neck before, it's nothing compared to how it's gonna be from now on! "

His eyes sparked with anger, emotions twisting his pleasant features into something bitter and harsh.

Sam had no words. Dean was right, everything he said was true It cut him to his core, and he retreated. "Sure...sure Dean, anything you say. Look, I've gotta go...we'll talk more later. ok? I just, I've gotta go.." He stopped for a moment, by the door frame. "Dean, I am really sorry. I can't..." he sighed. "I wish it were me and not you..." He left at that.

Dean lay with his arms crossed tightly, as his eyes prickled with angry tears. He wiped at them roughly and swore. _-no you don't-you have no idea_-

* * *

Ellen and Bobby had spoken with David. They'd seen Sam's hastened retreat. She pushed Dean's door open and they stepped in quietly. He didn't look up.

''Not now. Leave me alone."

"Honey, we heard the news. we just want to say-''

"I said not now!" he barked.

She was torn between ignoring him and staying, and giving him some time alone. She settled for the latter. She took a chance and kissed his forehead, and whispered that they'd come back whenever he wanted, and even if he didn't. He nodded and waited for them to leave. Once they had gone, he closed his eyes, willing himself to fall into the comforting oblivion of sleep.

* * *

When Dean awoke again, he was alone. He was glad. The room was dark, as dark as his mood. He knew there was a small army of anxious and caring people in the hospital somewhere near. He wished they would all get into their cars and drive far away. _-leave me alone...for christ's sake, just leave me alone_- The nurses had come earlier. They turned him again, like some roasted pig on a barbeque spit. They took care of his needs, his functions. He ground his teeth and shut his eyes throughout the ordeal, so humiliated he wanted to puke. They left, finally, and he didn't have to endure their bright, sunny pasted-on smiles any longer, their saccharine encouragements, and brisk, efficient handling. It left him choking with impotent rage. He managed to keep from lashing out at them; they were just a bunch of working stiffs, just doing their job. But it took every ounce of self control he could muster to stop himself from telling them all to go to hell. If one more upbeat jackass came in, encouraging him to stay positive, to keep looking up, keep _smiling_-he was gonna knock somebody's teeth down their freaking throat.

He snorted to himself, and again felt hot, bitter tears escape his lashes. _Loser_. He couldn't even raise himself, let alone have the strength to do something like that. Once the floodgate opened, he couldn't stop. He cried hard, in silence, burying his face against the pillow, gripping it to his chest with both hands, so hard that his nails bent back and his fingers ached. He wanted a gun, a blade, a bottle of pills, anything to stop this god-damned nightmare. When he had nothing left, he fell asleep, exhausted and empty.

When the nurses came again, he was hardly aware of them this time. He didn't care anymore.

Bobby stopped one of them. "How is he..?"

She smiled sadly. "He's crying, finally. He needed to do that."

Bobby glanced at his closed door, pained and uncomfortable. "Should I go in and talk to him-?"

She shook her head and squeezed his arm. "No. Let him be. He's angry and bitter and confused. It's good for him to shed some of that emotion. Honey, there's alot you can do to support him, but he needs to come to terms with this himself. You can't help him with that, and it isn't an easy road. Give him his space now, go to him in a little while. I've seen this many times; this is a really hard point for him and he needs to work through it alone."

Bobby stared at her for a moment, then nodded in a daze. His own feelings were threatening to suffocate him, all he wanted to do was go in there and make it all better somehow, just like he always did, just like he was supposed to. But this time it was different. He couldn't undo this, and Dean Winchester, whom he'd seen grow up from a tough and mouthy little bastard into a strong, loyal, selfless man; was broken. And there wasn't a god-damned thing Uncle Bobby could do about it. That reality struck him hard and left him reeling. This was not fair. Too much was asked of that boy already, too much expected, and he'd always thrown himself fully and willingly into the trials he was subjected to. He gave everything of himself, despite the toll. He deserved better treatment. _Quid pro quo, Lord. Step in any time_-

He suddenly felt grey and drained, like he was a hundred years old. He turned away from the nurse, not hearing her anymore. He didn't see the floor in front of him, he walked slowly, and stopped only when Ellen stood in front of him. She didn't say anything, she just wrapped her arms around him and gently pressed his head against her shoulder. He slumped in defeat, overwhelmed by helplessness, hating being useless, and he gave in and wept. -_Any time, Lord. We're all waiting here-_

* * *

Sam sat in silence. Alone in the Impala, surrounded by everything that was quintessentially Dean, he tortured himself by reliving his brother's angry, bitter words; a screaming audio loop that refused to stop playing. -_you put me here, you sonofabitch_- Lilith may have done the violence, but it was Sam who ignored Dean's pleas to get Castiel. If he hadn't been so damned overconfident in his own power, if he'd done it right away, maybe... He knew that Dean was angry and upset, and would probably forgive him in time. He always forgave. But the truth would always be there, glaringly obvious, and he knew it. And no matter if Dean softened toward him, Sam would never be able to forgive himself. Dean accused him of living in fantasy land. Well, that was nothing new; the world they knew was far from normal anyway, and they'd seen stranger things than miracles happen. If Castiel wouldn't step up, then he himself had to. Despite how it had all played out-he was sure that the Trickster was still out there. Uriel had attacked him, stabbed him with a stake, but there was nothing left behind; no body, no elemental leftovers, no mist or smoke or dust; nothing. Surely if such a powerful thing had been extinguished, there would have been evidence. It was all he had to go on, and it was thin.

Thin. Not nearly enough to compensate for what he'd caused. He leaned against the smooth, worn leather seat and covered his eyes. Things were already so hard. His destiny, the demon blood... Dean was still his champion, no matter what. He never strayed from his protection, no matter what ugly realities swallowed them. Just like when they were kids.

And dad...he'd been so driven. But he was useless when they needed a father. He was the Sergeant, the General; they were mere foot soldiers, especially Dean. Do as I say...My way or the highway. Hell, Bobby Singer had played more of a paternal role than John Winchester ever had. But Sam couldn't go to him now to talk about this. The guilt he felt was a palpable weight, and he couldn't stand to see the reproach in Bobby's eyes if he dared tell him the details of why it went down this way. He'd see Dean's in his nightmares forever. Sam sat still, as tears slid down. He saw Dean's face, so taut and stony, and his angry, hurt words refused to quiet, they echoed in his head; -_you put me here, you sonofabitch_-

He'd never seen hate in his brother's eyes before, not for him anyway. But he was sure he did now. Dean deserved to feel whatever he did. It was Sam's fault. This would have been a different ending if he'd just tucked his ego away and left the fight to Castiel. If the angel couldn't send Lilith to hell, he would have at least chased her away to lick her wounds. And Dean would have gotten up and walked away from this..

He had to fix this. But Sam knew that the angels were wary of him at best. He would find no sympathy with Uriel, that was certain. And regardless of how he felt, Castiel would obey whatever the stronger one dictated. He couldn't count on turning his allegiance to provide some miracle for Dean. That left one alternative. Well, two really. He could scour every available source to find or summon the Trickster, if he still existed, and beg, or bully him to undo his handiwork. Or he could seek aid from_... No. Don't even think it._ He'd learned what repercussions could come from the powers of hell. Dean certainly had. He knew he was a coward. But he couldn't face Dean again, not like this. He couldn't bear his hostile stare, his bitter, accusing words. Dean was a tough, uncompromising SOB, but Sam had always been able to rely on his fierce and loyal affection. Without it now, he felt weak and exposed and raw. He decided that it was best this way. He would go, immediately, and throw himself into this hunt. He vowed to pore over every known piece of literature about the Trickster, follow every lead, no matter how obscure. He would find him, god-damn it. He'd make him reverse this horror. And yes, Dean would hate him at first, he'd be sure that Sam had done just what he'd warned him not to; certain that he'd abandoned him. But when he'd been successful, when he'd found Trickster and returned with him, Dean would forgive him. It would all be ok...

Sam stared at the Impala's interior. -_and I'll never drive my f~~king car again_- He closed his eyes, and fought a fresh and suffocating wave of guilt and remorse. Driving the Impala meant everything to Dean. It was his solace, his sanctuary, one that was sorely needed in his complicated life. Even if that was now denied him, at least the car would be here for him when he was stronger; he could still fuss over it, still maintain and preserve it, even if he couldn't drive it anymore. Sam couldn't take the car now to pursue his purpose. He just couldn't. It would strip Dean of every remaining thing that was dear to him. He sighed, realizing he'd have to find some other wheels. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and opened the door. He left the keys under the seat, and when he'd made sure he was alone in the parking lot, he searched for and found David's truck. Dean had taught him well; he made short work of getting into it, and when the roar of the engine showed he was successful in hot-wiring it, he left the hospital and the horror behind. He clenched his jaw hard as he drove, blinking his eyes clear _-I promise you, Dean-if it costs me everything-I'll fix this, I swear_-

* * *

Dean never asked for them to come. He withdrew from them all, from the hospital room, the procedures, from the miserable routines of his new and limited life. Bobby fretted and paced as days passed; he had no idea how to deal with this. He wanted to go in there and shake him, tell him to snap out of it and fight like the Dean Winchester he knew, but every time he had his hand on the door knob, he just couldn't do it. But Ellen wasn't about to accept it, she'd barged in and stayed with Dean time and time again, talking to him, cajoling him to keep going, to lean on them and talk it out. But he remained silent, barely acknowledging her presence. It was obvious that he was growing more and more despondent. His condition was deteriorating, he was pale, dark-eyed and listless, his surgery incision was frustratingly slow to heal, and David was hearing worrisome sounds in his chest. He was already developing pressure sores. David was concerned that his lack of fight was severely affecting his recovery. Most significantly, Dean had stopped asking for Sam. Ellen fumed over the younger Winchester's apparent flight, cursing his lack of loyalty and backbone.. But Bobby knew better. He knew that Sam felt things deeply, and that he'd fled for more reasons than simple cowardice. He knew that that boy was on a mission to provide the miracle his brother needed. He just wished the damned fool would have included him in that quest.

Bobby left countless messages on his cell, but Sam had apparently decided to go it alone; all he got was voicemail. Finally, Bobby stopped leaving impassioned pleas or angry diatribes; instead, he left information, clues, anything he could come up with from his own sources about Trickster lore. He prayed Sam was at least getting them.

And David Bowman was pulling out his hair. He was bitterly disappointed in Sam Winchester. The truck, that was nothing, he had planned to get something else soon anyway. But he watched the toll his absence took on Dean when he could least afford it. Dean needed his brother close, no matter how he may blame him for what happened. Sam should have known that. He was still in shock that the young man had fled the situation. It didn't seem like him. He talked with Ellen about it, and she agreed.

"Bobby thinks he's gone to find a way out of this for his brother. He thinks Sam will only come back if he's successful. -ugh, Damn that boy! Can't he see what's more important here? Dean's fading fast, but all Sam can think of is reversing his own damned mistake, instead of staying around to support his brother, no matter how hard. Dean needs him by his side; that's the only way he'll find any peace with the changes in his life. He won't let us in, we can't even try to fill that role! And Sam's off chasing ghosts, while his brother fades into one right in front of us all!" She broke down, finally. Ellen had been a tower of strength for the rest of them. She just didn't have anything left anymore. "Stupid men!" she railed through her tears. "Stupid-!" David didn't even try to defend his half of the race. He just enfolded her.

* * *

Castiel had always been plagued by this. The others around him seemed so singular of purpose, so unquestioningly loyal to the cause, blindly following orders from superiors without ever once needing to hear the words from the Lord himself. Why did he always question? Why had he never felt he had enough direction? What made him so weak, or arrogant, as to have these constant doubts? They weighed on his mind like lead; he wanted to stand in the light and shrug them off, to accept his role and find happiness and fulfillment in it. Only Anna had been thus, and it had been his task to kill her or chase her back to obeisance. She was outcast, considered a danger, a cancer in the ranks for it. But he knew her to be nothing but good. There were none more pure of heart and purpose than Anna, she felt the beauty and sorrow around her as keenly as he did. Uriel was a tower of virtue, but he was stone; he had no empathy. He was hard and driven, and at times, capable of cruelty, things that rivaled the work of their very enemy. He envied his companion now. Uriel was a dragon, but he was a pious, unbending, righteous one. At least he seemed to be...he certainly told everyone around him that it was so. Castiel felt like a delinquent child being dragged back into the classroom. He knew his wandering mind and nagging questions were a fault, but somehow, what he saw in Uriel was no closer to what he should aspire to. Castiel could not accept that the end always justified the means, and that they, as Angels, had divine permission to do what ever was required to fulfill their purpose. The line was blurring, far too much for his comfort.

And he begged for revelation. He sat in quiet places, praying fervently for enlightenment, but it never came. He wondered why it was so, when good Uriel always seemed to return from his own meditations with clear, god-given directives. Uriel always came back with orders so specific that he must have been conversing with the Lord himself. Castiel wasn't bitter, but it only served to fuel his own self-doubt, and the waters were muddied further, rather than clarified. It felt wrong, lately; something was just...wrong.

He sat on his bench, under the massive chestnut tree in the place that he always chose. It was his favourite. As always, he tried to tune out the distractions, listening hard to the silence in the hope that a message would reach him. But he found his efforts lacking. He couldn't keep Dean Winchester out of his thoughts. The scene played out, over and over in his mind, when he was forced to leave him there, in the barn, broken and agonized. He picked it apart, searching desperately for some evidence that what he'd done was right. It certainly felt anything but. But nothing came to light. In fact, the more he broke that horrible event down, the more he knew he had to go back. Intervention was strictly prohibited, unless you had orders. Well, he'd prayed and begged and sweated for the word. He felt abandoned, and he knew that the Winchesters felt the same. He couldn't live with it, he just couldn't.

But Uriel was his shadow. It was obvious that he knew what Castiel was considering. It was his purpose to keep Castiel in line; he had said as much. And he performed his duties admirably and thoroughly; Castiel rarely had a moment alone where he wasn't being watched or harangued at by the powerful angel. He hovered over Castiel, suffocating him with his insistent presence and his endless pontificating. Castiel couldn't think, which was the point, he supposed.

He needed to see her. Anna, she was the one he could talk to about all this. He hoped she would come. He found some excuse to leave Uriel for a short while. A subterfuge, something believable. When he'd shed himself of Uriel's oppressive surveillance, he made his way to a hidden place and called her out. He waited anxiously for her answer. -_please, Anna...I need perspective, I need guidance-_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Dean tried to tune him out. Bobby sat with him, as he'd done dozens of times already. His voice droned on, about Dean's importance to them all, about his recovery, about the future. -As if there is one- Finally he sighed and turned to look at his old friend.

"Can it, Bobby, alright? I'm tired. I know you all mean well, but jesus, what do you want from me? My so-called future is irrelevant; this thing is still going down whether I'm standing in front of it or not. Lilith is breaking seals left and right while you spend your time telling fairytales to the sad, lonely cripple. I can't help this anymore! You need to quit wasting time here. Sam knew that; he left, didn't he-? You need to find him and Castiel and figure out how to win the bloody war. I'm not a part of anything anymore, I'm not strong enough, maybe I never was! You're all backing the wrong horse, just leave me alone for christ's sake!" His voice was thin, and the outburst left him short of breath. He swore softly, wiping at his watering eyes.

Bobby stood up so abruptly that his plastic chair up-ended. He threw his hat to the ground and roared in frustration. "Stop it, dammit! You stop that bullshit right now-! I am sick and tired of sitting here listening to you give up on yourself, and on Sam, and the rest of this miserable world! You are tougher and grittier and stronger than anybody I know, but you're the most stubborn sonofabitch god ever had the misfortune to make! So don't you lie there whining and moaning about how you're nothing and we should all haul you to the curb and move on! You know it's crap, so crawl out of your own god-damned navel for two seconds; you'll see that you're needed here, and that it's up to you to get on with it! I'm tired too, Winchester! I'm tired of sitting in this hard chair day in day out, watching you wilt like a cut flower, listening to you dying in increments when none of it is necessary! I'm tired of hearing my own voice, I got no words left! Your idiot brother is out there looking for an answer to all this, so he can win back his hero and life can go on! Yeah, maybe he ain't going about this with a clear head, but he's doing it out of love, and the least you can do is buck up and make damned sure he doesn't come back to a corpse! You won't do it for yourself, you won't do it for us, but for god's sake, do it for him-!"

The tirade shocked Dean. Everyone had been tiptoeing around him up until then. He blinked and stared, momentarily speechless. But the hurt he felt ran deeper than Bobby knew. "Do it for Sam? You don't know what the hell you're talking about! He left me, god damn it! It told him not to, I warned him, but he left anyway! And he should have! It was the right thing to do, and you need to go find him and help him with what he has to do, before some new golden-hearted hellspawn becomes his mentor! Jesus christ, Bobby, look around you! Sam's the only hope we have now! Even Castiel knows it; do you see him here wasting time hovering over me? I can't even get up out of this bed, I can't leave this room, I can't drive my car, I can't do anything!" His voice broke at the end of it. "-there's nothing left here for any of you."

Dean expected him to leave after that. But Bobby quietly righted his chair. He sat down again, and rubbed his hand over his grizzled cheeks. He didn't know what he was going to say now, but he wasn't about to do what Dean wanted. He was quiet for a while, watching Dean as the younger man stared away, eyes shining, breathing hard with the emotion.

Finally Bobby did speak. "Are you done?"

Dean ignored him.

Bobby sighed and leaned closer. He measured his words with care. "Now you listen to me, you jackass! Right now, I don't give a rat's ass about the bloody Apocalypse. It can come whenever it wants, it was gonna happen sooner or later anyway. All I care about is you. Did you hear me? I said I care about _you_. Just as Sam does, just as David and Ellen. And I don't care if that makes you uncomfortable. I ain't sitting here getting 'roids day after day because I want you to take up arms and fight the good fight for us, ok? I'm here because...christ, I'm here because I love you, boy. I love you like you were my own damned kid. I can't stand to see you give up, you're stripping years off my sorry life watching this. Don't do this to me." Bobby choked back tears now, he slumped in his chair and aged as Dean turned and witnessed.

Dean could only manage a strangled whisper. "I just want to get into my car and drive far away, Bobby...I just want to drive far away." He didn't wipe at his eyes now. He let his own tears fall freely.

Bobby took his hand, and this time, Dean did not pull away.

"I know, boy. I know."

* * *

Nothing. There was nothing. Sam growled in frustration, tossing the last sheaf of faxes aside. After all his research, after everything he'd received from Bobby, after the miles he'd logged, he'd come up empty. Loki, or Trickster, had been adept at hiding his tracks. Sam couldn't find any means whatsoever to summon the being, it seemed he appeared only at his own whim and never, ever in response to the call of man. He sighed, rubbing his exhausted and gritty eyes. Iceland's ambassador had connected him with the country's Minister of Education, Science and Culture. Katrin Jakobsdottir was a collector of books on Icelandic myth, a great source of cultural lore. The information she'd provided was very complete, with one exception. It said nothing of ways in which one could speak directly to the demi-god Loki. It seemed it just wasn't done. He paced in the small room, running a hand through his unkempt hair. He felt flushed, he was beginning to panic. - _I'll never fix this_- He was running on empty and couldn't remember when he'd last eaten anything decent. He felt like his head would explode, and he needed to go somewhere to find a drink. He was wise enough to leave the car behind, just in case. He went in to the john and washed his face with cold water, and headed out to find distraction.

He found it, a half hour walk from his room. It was a dive, but he hardly noticed. It was full of people, most of whom were there for similar reasons to his own. Distraction...denial of ugly reality... He found a space at the bar, and ordered a double scotch. He grimaced at the taste; he hated scotch, but it was strong. He ordered another, and another. The sounds of the voices around him were grating. Loud mouthed bullies, and know-it-alls offering their unsolicited opinions, sharing bad advice. He felt a rage begin to bubble under his surface. Maybe another drink would help... When he was decently numbed, he was nearly able to drown them all out. The patrons, the losers around him now, as well as the other voices and images that had been torturing him. He felt himself begin to uncoil.

It was then that he heard it. Laughter. It came from close behind him, just to his left. It got louder, and he whipped around, sure it was familiar. No one was there, at least no one he knew. He turned back to his drink. Someone nudged him then, hard enough to spill the drink he held to his mouth. It knocked from his fingers and soaked his shirt; the glass clattering on the bar top. He swore and stood up, as the other patrons stared at him with irritation. He turned, ready to confront the offender. The grinning man who met his angry eyes winked.

"You!" Sam growled. He lunged, not waiting for an answer. His target vanished instantly, and Sam bowled into the solid body of the aggressive drunk standing behind him. The two hit the floor, up-ending pub tables and chairs. People scattered as the stranger hauled Sam up to his feet and plowed a fist into his face. It sent momentary stars across his view, but his rage boiled up and he slugged him back with equal violence. It decended from there; the two men punched and swore and battered each other bloody, until a pair of burly bouncers separated them, and threw them unceremoniously out the front door of the bar into the street. Both lay there for a moment in the dust, heaving to catch their breath. Sam was up first, and he staggered, raising his fists. The other man shook his head. He rose unsteadily and headed away in search of his wheels.

Alone, Sam scanned the street with one eye, the other already swelling shut. He swore again, quietly this time, and rubbed his bruised and bloody knuckles. Pain clarified things for him, more than anything. _What am I doing here..? _he thought miserably. _ This is stupid. _He sat down heavily on the curb and dropped his head into his hands. It hit him like a kick to the gut. He really had no idea if the trickster had really been there; it could have been a scotch-induced hallucination for all he knew. He was wasting his time. He couldn't undo the past. He couldn't make it all better by chasing this lost cause. He had to face it and deal with things. And the future; especially Dean's, was in serious jeopardy. He knew that there was something more important than this pointless search. He'd convinced himself that it was for Dean, but deep down he knew that it was really to assuage his own crushing guilt. Dean was suffering. Dean needed him. He lurched off in the direction of his motel.

He got to his door, and stood there for a moment, staring at the car. He wanted to get behind the wheel right now and drive to his brother. But he was drunk, and he knew it. Too much so to drive. And he needed cleaning up, after his fight. He decided to crash; it was late, well past two am. He couldn't think any more. He went in and dropped like a stone on to the bed, beaten in more ways than one. He lay there in the quiet, keenly aware of what he'd been up to for the last few hours. He sighed, and got up to wash his blood-crusted face. The bathroom mirror offered a view that was hardly complimentary. One eye was now tightly swollen shut. His nose was bloodied, but thankfully not broken. A fat lip threatened. He washed away as much of it as he could, then poured a glass of water and locked the front door. As he settled into his lumpy, stale motel bed, he was drifting off when he was startled by a call. It was Bobby again. He was too tired and demoralized to speak to him, and once again he let the voicemail take it. When the call ended, he picked up the phone to retrieve the message. _-hope it's something positive-_

He listened to Bobby's anxious words. Dean was going down hill, his condition failing. In no uncertain terms, Bobby informed him that if he wanted to see his brother alive, he'd better get his ass back to Georgia, and soon. Sam swore with a vengeance and threw the phone onto the chair. He'd failed. He'd failed, and now Dean was facing more than paralysis, he was dying. He buried his face in his hands and cried, railing against god and the devil, against Castiel, Trickster. Lilith...And against himself. His self-imposed exile had been pointless, apparently doing more harm than good. When he was able to get a grip on himself, he finally returned the call.

"_Sam?"_

"Yeah, Bobby, it's me. How is he..?"

There was a long chain of cursing. "_Dying, you stupid, blind jack-ass! He needed you! Why the hell didn't you call before?"_

Sam stammered. "Bobby, I just had to do this, I needed to fix it! Dean hates me, I had to find a way-!"

"_And did you?"_

"No...no."

_"Well it don't matter now. Dean's spirit is sapped. He feels abandoned, and he doesn't see any point in breathing for much longer. Boy, you better get your ass out here, or you'll be picking out his coffin."_

Sam was struck dumb. After a moment, he spoke. "I tried, Bobby. I tried everything. I searched every angle, I followed every obscure reference, but it's hopeless. Trickster can't be summoned. I can't help Dean-"

"_The hell you can't! Sam, your brother doesn't need you out there chasing miracles for him, he needs you here, with him! Christ, boy! You knew how fearful he was about being abandoned! You of all people should have known how this would affect him!"_

Sam felt his heart constrict. "Bobby, I had to find a way to fix this-"

_"No! That is bullshit, you had to stay here and face the consequences! You had to stay here and support him, dammit! Don't lie to me, you left to help your own conscience as much as to help him! And how'd that work out, by the way?"_

Sam struggled to answer. "You know how."

_"Yeah, Sam, I do know. You came up with squat. I coulda told you that, but you never asked. Hell, nobody has more literature on that than I do, not even all the museums and universities in Scandinavia, for christ's sake! All you had to do was talk to me-!"_

Sam knew he was right. "Bobby, I...I just needed to do something...I needed to find a way-"

"_You fled, Sam. You couldn't face his anger. You __know __that's the truth. And you wanted to find a way somehow to undo it all. And I get that, considering. But he thinks you left him because he's useless, or worthless now.. And he feels so god-damned alone that he's giving up, and he won't let any of us in to help. We can't do a damned thing to help him, none of us! The only one who can make any difference is you! Sam, you need to get back here, and now!"_

* * *

Anna came. Castiel felt stupid for doubting. She sat down beside him on the grass. Before he could speak, she turned her dark and serious eyes to him. "I know what this is about."

He nodded, and looked away for a moment. "Uriel is watching me like a hawk. He is doing his good work thoroughly, keeping me from straying."

Anna was blunt. "Uriel is stopping good from being done. He's done so for some time, Castiel."

He looked at her, confused, and not a little alarmed. "What do you mean? He has orders; he has faith, strength, clarity; all things that I lack. God speaks to him, while He offers me only silence."

She looked at him with exasperation. "Really? Do you really think Uriel has God's ear? Castiel, I know your heart. You are torn and wracked with doubts and questions, you always have been. And you feel weak and faithless for it, don't you? Uriel knows this, he uses it to keep you off-balance. You think Uriel has been charged with your re-education, and why? Because he tells you so!"

Castiel shook his head. "No...I am weak and wayward, Anna. Just as you are. He is right, he is there to steer me back-"

Anna shook her head at him with a mixture of sadness and disgust. "Open your eyes, Castiel. When was it that you last thought for yourself? Why do you think he's isolated you from the brothers? Why do you think he always seems to have these 'directives', while you have nothing? Uriel is working his own agenda, and it clashes with your true path."

He snorted in a rare show of bitterness. "_Path_? And what is my path? No one but Uriel bothers to tell me!"

She stared hard at him. "It's the same as it always was, Castiel. You were given a sacred and important task; aid Dean Winchester in his destiny. Uriel did not give you that job, God did. There's never been any other. You don't get orders or revelation now, because you already have it! You _have_ the clarity, you have the direction, you're still in the middle of fulfilling this important duty; so why would you be given new ones? You've been brainwashed by Uriel to believe that you are doing wrong. Tell me, Castiel; does abandoning them _feel_ right? Is it not in violation of your orders? You have the choice to be creative in pursuing that goal, just as much as Uriel does. He's bullied you into believing that he has a direct relationship with the Lord, and that only he should be doing any thinking, and now Dean Winchester lies in misery, hobbled and faithless and bereft. _Why, _Castiel? Why do you think Uriel wants this? Does this sound like God's work to you-?"

Castiel stared back at her in shock. What she suggested now was tantamount to treason, but she was already well on that path when she abandoned her grace. "You can't be saying that Uriel has plans other than God's? It's unthinkable, it's-" He was a a loss for words. But he knew, deep down, that some part of it must be true. She'd pulled the veil from his eyes, and it was clear to him now; Uriel had been isolating him, he had been steering him away from what were his true orders. But he wasn't ready to accept her insistence that Uriel was blocking good, that if he had a secret agenda, it was somehow less than honourable. Anna wasn't objective after all, her perspective was tainted by her own disgrace. But still...

His eyes beseeched her for the answers that eluded him. "I don't know what to think, Anna. I don't know what to do-"

"Yes you do. You do. Fulfill your orders, Castiel! Protect Dean Winchester. Guide him. For God's sake, _help_ him. _That's_ your purpose. You have to go back to him; do what you can to set him back on his proper track. Uriel derailed him from it by attacking Loki. Awfully lucky, wasn't it; Uriel's arrival at that crucial moment? He knew what he was doing; don't you ever doubt it. I don't know why he doesn't want Dean Winchester to move ahead as he's supposed to. It doesn't matter now; but it's your job to counteract the damage he's done."

"Are you suggesting intervention? You know that's forbidden-! And my strength is already diminished from the other times I've done it, it's the reason I'm being watched! If I do it again, my weakening will endanger my brothers! Uriel will-"

Anna rose with a disgusted sigh. She turned her back to him and began to walk away. But she stopped, and spun to meet his eyes. "Think for yourself, Castiel! If God wanted sheep, he wouldn't have given you your intellect. If it's sacrifice that's required of you now, than do it. If it weakens you to do good, then ask yourself if perhaps it's worth the risk. This is as much a part of your orders as anything you've done so far to aid Dean. Do you really want to remain powerful, but heartless, like Uriel? Stop looking for answers to things that don't require questioning. Do your job-!"

She left him then, alone on the grass. He sat for a long time, thinking over everything she'd said, about the brothers, about Uriel. He thought about his own role in all of this. He made a decision then. And for the first time in a long while, he felt good.

* * *

Sam met Bobby in the parking lot. He stood by the Impala, running his hand absent-mindedly along it's smooth, sculptural lines. "Hi Bobby."

Bobby stood with arms crossed. "What the hell did you get in to?"

Sam shrugged. "Had a little disagreement with a fellow jackass. It's nothing." He didn't bother to tell him of his Trickster sighting. It didn't matter. "Hope David wasn't too mad about the truck.." he ventured.

Bobby snorted. "He's already got a car picked out."

"Good." Sam looked away briefly. "Bobby, I really wanted to fix this-"

"I know, Sam. But sometimes you can't change things. Sometimes the best thing you can do is accept it. He needs you, even if he won't show it. He might be angry, he might blame you, but that don't matter. What matters is that you're there for him."

Sam nodded. He stared at the car for a few moments. "He said... he'll never get to drive his car again."

"Well, I guess...that's not real important now."

Sam shook his head. "No, Bobby. It is. It really is. That's why I took the truck, I just couldn't take the Impala.. This car, this stupid old junker...it was Dad's. For Dean, it's home, it's the centre of everything. He's only ever happy when he's driving it. No matter what was going on around him, if he could get in this car and drive, things were bearable."

Bobby nodded. There was nothing to add.

Sam turned to him, his expression raw and scared. "What should I say, Bobby? I don't know how to make it better...I tried, and I came up empty. All I did was make it worse. And all the rest of it; Lilith, the seals, what the hell are we all supposed to do now-?"

Bobby leveled his gaze at him. "One thing at a time, Sam. The world can just sit on it's thumbs for while. Look after your brother. That's all you need to worry about today. And it ain't gonna be easy, you know that. He's got a lot to work out, and you're at the centre of most of it. Don't let him chase you away, Sam. Lord knows he's gonna try."

Sam stared at the ground, then nodded. "I know. Thanks, Bobby, for all your help.."

Bobby patted his shoulder. "Get in there. I've got some things I have to do."

* * *

Sam's words had flicked a switch for Bobby. He did a bit of research. He knew there were ways. A consumate scrounger, Bobby made a few calls, and he found a source for what he sought. He left for a while, and when he got back, he had his prize beside him on the truck seat. The cardboard box was taped in many places with fraying duct tape. It was stained and creased, having spent some years, unused, in someone's damp basement. He parked, and the box clanked with metallic weight as he gathered it up. He smiled slightly, and went in search of Sam.

* * *

Sam crept into the room. Nothing had changed much in the week he'd been away. The room was still the stark, institutional backdrop to the still figure sleeping there, surrounded by electronics and monitors. The steady hum of the specialized bed was the only constant sound. He put his hand on it, again intrigued by the curious sensation it offered. Like mice running around in it. It was supposed to vary the pressure points on the patient's body, to minimize bed sores. Dean had complained that it felt weirdly obscene, and it kept him awake. What he could feel of it, anyway...

He sighed nervously, queasy with apprehension. He wanted to tell Dean why he'd gone, and how sorry he was for it all. He wanted to tell him he'd been successful in calling Trickster to them, and that things were going to change, but that wasn't going to happen. He'd returned empty-handed, with nothing to offer. He didn't know what his reception would be, but he tried to brace himself. He waited, listening to his brother's shallow breathing over the other sounds. He did look worse. He looked colourless, and had lost weight. He turned away, feeling terrible, and stared at the heart monitor line peak and level, over and over. He didn't notice that Dean had opened his eyes and was staring at him now.

It startled him. "Dean! -jesus, how are you feeling?" It was lame and stupid, nothing like the eloquence he knew he'd need now to win him over.

Dean was on his side, some sort of brace held his torso rigid. He eyed Sam coldly. "Have a nice vacation?"

Sam steeled himself and started. "Dean...man; first, let me say-"

"Go to hell! I don't want to hear your bullshit! Why'd you bother to come back, anyway? Was there something you needed? Well all I've got is ten bucks and a safe in my wallet; take it and get out-!"

"Dean, please...hear me out! Look, I'm so, so sorry I left, I know what you must think, but I was sure I could...I was...I wanted to..."

Dean interrupted him with a bitter growl. "You wanted to get away from the cripple. You wanted to go somewhere, some place where you didn't have to deal with the shit. How'd it feel, Sam? Did it work? Must've been nice to get away." His meaning was brutally clear.

Sam wilted under the hostile stare. He wanted to flee again, more than anything, but he sat where he was and bore his brother's anger. "No Dean, that wasn't it. I went so I could fix it, so I could make this better." But Dean was right, and he knew it. He stopped his laboured explanations and sighed. He raised his eyes. "You're right. ...you're right, Dean. I was a coward. I left because I couldn't stand to see what I'd done to you. I couldn't deal with you blaming me, I was so scared and screwed up and weak... I thought it was best for both of us if I went and did everything I could to get Trickster to come back, and then everything would be ok again and... and you wouldn't-"

Dean looked away. "..be useless anymore."

"No! god, no, Dean! Not that! If I could fix it, then you wouldn't keep hating me." He wiped away his tears, his hand shaking. "Christ, Dean, I couldn't live with that. I never thought you were useless, I didn't leave because I didn't need you anymore, or because I figured there wasn't anything you could do for me anymore.. I left because I needed to make this all right again, for you and for me! But I failed. I looked everywhere, but I couldn't find any way. I can't make him come back, Dean. Trickster just toyed with me, I never had any chance. God, I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry-" He broke down fully, his sobbing awkward and unbridled.

Dean sighed and covered his own eyes. "Sammy, quit blubbering. God, you sound like a woman." His voice was tired, but it had lost it's harsh edge. Sam got a grip on himself and dared to look up at him. Dean scrutinized him for several moments, then sighed and pursed his lips. "Look, I hear what you're saying, alright? I guess maybe I did think you were a self-serving bitch for leaving, but I should have known why."

"You believe me, right?-that it wasn't because I thought you weren't any good to me anymore-"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I believe you. It was because you're just a big pussy."

Sam smiled sheepishly. But he sobered. "Dean, I'm not giving up. I'll keep looking, there's got to be a way-"

Dean stopped him short, wearily rubbing his eyes. "Sam...don't waste your time. I'm not trying to be a martyr here, ok? But I need you to be realistic. I'm going to need help, with the way things will be. I know I can get back some of my life; they all keep telling me that ad nauseum, but I need you here with me. I need to know I can count on you, despite all the heavy stuff on the horizon. I have too much to deal with right now without worrying that you're going to take off and go kamikaze against Lilith because you feel guilty over me. You've gotta promise that..."

Sam met his gaze. "Yeah, Dean.. I promise."

"Good...alright. Now as beautiful a moment as this is, I need you to get lost. I'm beat, Sam, and I need a nurse in here."

"You sure..? I mean, I want to stay-"

"It's not a test, Sam. Go get some sleep, you look like crap warmed over. What happened anyway?"

Sam smiled a little. "Scotch and bad judgement."

Dean snorted. "Well I hope you won at least."

"It was pretty much a tie."

Dean rolled his eyes. He sighed wearily. "Go. Come by later, I'm guessing I'll still be here."

Sam nodded, relieved. He got up, and turned back one more time. "Dean...uh...you know I..."

"Don't make me hurl, Sam."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

By the time Bobby returned, both brothers were sleeping away their exhaustion. Dean was on his back now, he'd been turned again by his attendants. Sam was sprawled over a red plastic chair, in a position that only he could find conducive to slumber. The fact that they were in the same room was a good sign. Bobby figured Dean had said what he needed to say to his brother, and that they'd worked some of it out. He smiled a little. He could've bet the family farm on that. He shifted the box under his arm, worried that it's contents would end up spilling out of their patchy containment and wake them. He retreated quietly from the room. Finding a spot out of the way, he deposited his treasure, and went in search of David. When he found him, the doc confirmed what he'd hoped.

"Yes, they had it out some. I think Dean's still got alot to work out, but he's at least accepting Sam's reasons, and more importantly, his apology. He wanted me to send Sam to my place to sleep, but Sam refused. He's in there now."

Bobby was relieved to hear it. "Yeah, I saw that. That's a huge relief, let me tell you. The world ain't right when those two are battling. Listen, David...what are Dean's expectations? I mean, what can he expect to do in future, after he heals up?"

David sat down. "Well...any type of paralysis is obviously life-changing. But once he has some physio behind him, he'll be able to get a good chair, one that he moves himself. He won't need an electric chair, he's got good upper body strength, and the spinal damage is lower, so he still has alot of control over his torso. Chairs nowadays are alot better than they were a few years ago; they're lighter, they're not as hard on the sitter, and there's all kinds of athletic models out there. But in terms of independence, he'd have to learn to do the unpleasantries himself, but he can do pretty much anything the average person can, except walk. He'd need certain mobility equipment to live on his own. Other than that, it'll be up to him to push the limits."

Bobby nodded. "Well, if I know him, he'll be doing that, as long as we can force him out of his funk. Sam coming back will do a lot in that way. But what about...driving?"

David's expression softened. "Ah, the Impala... It's a possibility, Bobby, if he can transfer from his chair to the seat, and if he had a collapsible wheelchair that was light enough for him to haul in behind his car seat. Gotta have a two door car for that, or if it was the Impala, he'd need someone with him to put the chair in and out. The only modification he'd need is a set of hand controls, for gas and brake and that sort of thing."

"So..driving that car; it's possible for him then. As long as he gets stronger..?"

David smiled. "That's my professional opinion, yeah."

Bobby grinned back. It was exactly what he'd hoped for. "David, come here, have a look at this." He led him to where he'd stored the scruffy box, opening the flaps. Inside was a vintage, complete set of bolt-on hand controls, adaptable to any vehicle. "I know he's real broken up about the idea that he can't ever drive again. I needed to hear it from you that he could do it, before I showed this to him."

David rubbed his eyes and smiled at him. "Looks like a good, solid old set, it ought to work on that car. This is huge, Bobby. It'll go a long way to improve his state of mind. You're brilliant."

Bobby stared at the floor, embarrassed. "When can I give it to him?"

David checked his watch. "He's out of it right now. Nurses will be in to do some things in about an hour, it'll take them a while. Go see him at around five; he'll be getting his dinner then."

* * *

Sam awoke, and stretched away some of the stiffness that was the constant companion to his hospital snoozes. He yawned and scratched his hair, and glanced over at his brother. Dean still appeared to be sleeping soundly, and Sam leaned forward to get a better look at him. In the week that he'd been gone, his brother had thinned out. He had a pallor that accentuated his fine dusting of freckles, his eyelashes looked long and reddish against the darkness under his eyes. His blankets were pulled up high; with his immobility, he had trouble keeping warm. But other than that, there was nothing visible that belied his condition. He could have been simply napping, ready to leap out of bed at the slightest disturbance and deck whatever had the misfortune to be standing in front of him. Sam sighed. Life sucked. Especially for Dean... He knew that at some point, he'd have to address his part in all of this. He'd deliberately hurt him, when they'd argued by the roadside. It seemed an eternity had gone by since. But nothing could hide the fact that he'd let his power loose on his own brother, and the results had been disastrous. He'd never intended anything like what had happened, but he'd been angry enough to want to show him just who was the stronger of the two of them, and although he'd been horrified when he couldn't rein it in, he knew at the outset that it would cause him some sort of hurt. He'd tried to put it in perspective; both of them were perfectly willing at the time to use their fists to finish their argument. They'd done it many times as they'd grown up, and that particular violence was an intent to harm as much as what he'd unleashed at the roadside. But those times, they'd traded a few blows and always ended up laughing over it. He wondered now just how much of a loose cannon he was. What would happen in future? What if something or someone set him off again, would he be able to control the thing inside him next time? He was terrified of the hateful nature of his ability, but he knew that he needed to understand it more, and he was grimly certain that it was still integral to defeating Lilith.

It brought the memory of what he'd done to Ruby sharply to his mind, and he winced. She'd screamed and begged and raged, and justifiably; after all, he'd sent her back to hell, to face terrors he couldn't imagine at the hands of their enemies. He knew that everyone around him applauded that action, but he wasn't completely sure he'd done the right thing. It had been wholly reactionary, but in reality, he was responsible for what had happened to Dean, all Ruby had done was introduce him to what he was capable of. And now he was adrift...

"I said _hey."_

Sam blinked and returned to the present, startled by Dean's voice. "Geez, sorry. I was just.. thinking."

"Uh huh." Dean frowned. "Listen, Sam; they're going to come by pretty soon, and they need to do some stuff. I don't want an audience for any of that. Why don't you go grab something decent to eat, and pick me up something for later. No sense in you hanging around waiting."

Sam pushed his musings to the back burner. "Dean, I don't mind hanging around here. I've been getting ok food at the cafeteria downstairs."

"Bullshit. You can't live on that crap any more than I can. And anyway, I just need some time alone. Look; don't get all hurt and weepy on me, I just have some things to work out. I just need some space."

Sam watched him for a moment. Dean wore a dark and serious expression. He knew that his own return would have a positive effect, but Dean was still grieving the loss of the world as he knew it. He still needed time to accept it all, and it would take more than Sam's constant presence to ease that. "Sure, Dean. I understand. I'll go downtown, maybe check out the library again, and find some bookstores. Anything you want?"

_-yeah, to walk out that door with you_- "No. I'm ok. Seeya later, ok?"

"Count on it." Sam left then, and made his way down to the parking garage.

* * *

Bobby found Dean bitching about his bland meal. He looked it over with distaste, agreeing with him. "I'll bring you a burger later. In the meantime, have a look at this." He lifted the box and set it on the bed, it's contents rattling.

Dean eyed him with distrust. He opened it, and looked the metal parts over. "What's all this junk?"

"Hand controls." Bobby beamed.

Dean glanced at him quizzically. "Controls for what?"

"Gas and brake, idjit. For the Impala. They bolt on, Dean, so you can control the foot pedals of the Impala. So you can drive.."

Dean's suspicious expression turned to shock. "Drive-? Are you saying I can drive my car? With these things?"

"Yeah, Dean. As soon as you're healed up and stronger. David said you can get a chair that breaks down and somebody can haul it into the back seat. You swing your ass out of it and into the car seat, and the hand controls do what your feet would normally. Might need some practice, but yeah, you'll be able to drive your car. If you want, that is..."

Dean said nothing. He stared down at the box for a few minutes. "...Are they legal?"

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, of course they are. Not that legalities ever bothered you before! These are standard, Dean. Lots of people use them, no problem."

It was overwhelming. Dean had been in mourning over the changes in his life. Now, suddenly there was some real hope. He remained silent, picking up several of the metal parts and figuring the system out.

Bobby sat, waiting for his reaction. "So what do you think, Dean?"

Dean cleared his throat and looked up after a moment. "I didn't... " He stopped, and started again. "I thought I'd never be driving again. I was trying to decide who to give the car to; Sam, or to you. ..Jesus, Bobby, I..." He stopped and pretended to examine the box again.

Bobby understood. "Listen Dean, I've got to go do some things. I'll leave you to figure out how they'll attach. I'll see you later." He squeezed his arm as he passed.

Dean nodded, without looking up. When Bobby was nearly out the door, he heard Dean's quiet thank-you. He smiled to himself and left.

* * *

As he drove around the city, Sam gave Bobby a call to update him. He'd hoped to hear more about the item Bobby had purchased, specifically how it was received. "Hey, Bobby. David told me what you had in the box."

Bobby smiled proudly to himself. "_Yeah, that went over pretty much as I predicted. I talked to David before, to clear it. He also said that you two worked some shit out-"_

"Uh, yeah, we did. He said he...well, he forgives me for being a jackass. And I know he needs me here. I won't be going anywhere."

"_Good."_ Bobby said, serious again. _"Don't forget it. But David thinks you should go to his place and crash for a while. You're becoming a spectacle; a big, snoring sasquatch in the waiting room."_

Sam smiled a little, embarrassed. "I was going to, after I grabbed some dinner. If you don't think Dean'll mind."

_"Sam, he doesn't need you here 24/ 7. He just needs you here...you know?"_

"Yeah." Sam was silent for a moment. "Bobby, thanks for coming up with a way to get him back in that car..."

Bobby shrugged._ "I know him, Sam. And talking to you just reinforced how important this is to him. Anyway, go hang out at the Doc's house for a few hours, grab a shower and some grub. I'll let him know where you are."_

Sam thanked him, and hung up.

He would never reach his destination.

* * *

Sam stopped along the way, to pick up some snacks for his brother, some chocolate, some magazines. He returned to the car with his treats, and was about to turn the key when someone knocked on his window. He was momentarily startled, but he rolled it down to hear the smiling woman on the other side.

"Oh dear, did I scare you? Sorry to be so forward-" she started, "but I saw that you were headed north, and that you might have a bit of room in your big car. You see, I was biking to the grocery store, but darned if I didn't get a flat. I'm hoping for a lift to my husband's garage. It's just up ahead, about two miles. I should walk it, but I'm a bit tired after my ride." She smiled disarmingly.

Sam glanced at her, assessing her quickly. Older lady, maybe mid fifties. She held a bag with vegetables sticking out. Seemed very pleasant. It rang no alarms. "Sure, no problem. I'm headed that way, as you said. Do you want me to put your bike in back?"

She slipped into the passenger seat. "Oh, no, no...it's not important. My husband will pick it up tonight. Thanks so much for doing this, I really appreciate it."

Again, Sam assured her that it was no trouble. He had no idea.

* * *

Dean was a little shell-shocked by this new development. He opened the box several times, examining the works, trying to envision how it would attach and imagining using his hands rather than his feet to 'floor' it. But the hand controls were just what the doc ordered. Dean didn't fool himself; it didn't go terribly far in the big picture. But the possibility that he could still drive when he was stronger had immeasurable value in his road to recovery. It was exactly what his bruised spirit needed now. He wiped his eyes, and folded the box lid closed, tired and wrung out. When David checked in on him, he found him sleeping, his arm lying protectively over the cardboard container. I didn't look very comfortable, but David left it where it was.

* * *

Dean was in a better emotional place now, and he was anxious to show Sam the gift Bobby had brought. He'd expected to see him by now, he was overdue. When he saw David, he asked if he'd seen him yet.

"No, not yet. Don't worry, Dean, he no doubt fell asleep on the couch or something. He was pretty beat. Tell you what, I'll step out and call him, and the house, but if he can sleep through Mayhem's dropping that lacrosse ball on his face all evening, he may not hear the phone. I'll be back in around fifteen minutes."

His impatience was bordering on irritation. _Where the hell was he_? He looked up expectantly at the door opening, but it was David.

"Sorry, Dean; no luck. I left voicemail for him, as soon as he calls back I'll let you know. Don't worry, I'm sure he's dead to the world at my place."

Dean nodded. "Thanks."

* * *

By ten o'clock, Dean's irritation had evaporated in the face of worry. Bobby and Ellen were with him, and he found himself too distracted to follow the conversation. Ellen could see the anxiety building in him.

"Honey, David offered to go to the house to check, but I might as well do it. It's not far. I should go check on that idiot dog anyway. Bobby, are you staying?"

Bobby nodded. "Yeah. Call David as soon as you know if he's there or not, will you? Damn cells don't work in here."

She left with that promise. Bobby turned to Dean.

The younger man's face was taut with worry now. "Bobby, what the hell's he doing now? Christ, I thought we had an understanding, after everything. He said he was sticking close from now on!"

Bobby rubbed his chin. He went over his own conversations with Sam. He'd seemed to genuinely understand the importance of his presence to Dean, it didn't seem likely now that he would have gone AWOL again. Bobby was worried too, and he wasn't sure how much of it he should reveal to Dean.

Dean read his mind. "Don't you sugar-coat things for my sake, damn it! If you have some idea here, I want to hear it!"

Bobby sighed. "I know we had an understanding. You're brother's been an ass lately, but there is no way he took off again. Dean, I'd bet my left one on the fact that if he's gone somewhere, it wasn't his idea."

Dean nodded after a moment. He suppressed the sharp pang of hurt that Sam could possibly have abandoned him again. But he too, believed that his brother was sincere. It amplified his fear now; he didn't believe for a moment that Sam was simply asleep at David's; something wasn't right. He swore vehemently, frustration overtaking him. "For shit's sake, Bobby! Isn't this freaking complicated enough? What the hell is this now?"

"Now hang on, son...we don't know for sure that anything's wrong here, it just might-"

Dean cut him off sharply. "Don't! You're as worried as I am, I can see it in your face!" He tried to settle himself but he couldn't, his agitation was strangling him. "I mean, Lilith's still out there, she already tried something with him! Anything could've happened! And I'm stuck here, useless, in this freaking bed! I can't do a damned thing about any of it!" His voice rose to a shout, and he lashed out at the contents of his nightstand, shattering a glass against the floor.

Bobby stood up and gripped his shoulders. "Easy! Dean, settle down, alright? We'll get this sorted out! And if I hear you say you're useless one more time I'm gonna clock you one! I need you thinking straight now, so get a grip and help me here, dammit!"

Dean's eyes prickled, flashing with frustrated emotion. But he held Bobby's gaze until he felt a little calmer. He rubbed his eyes angrily and nodded. "He said he was thinking of going to the library; David will know where that is. Maybe he got carried away by what he was reading."

Bobby released him. "Ok...good. I'll find out where that is and drive out there, it's a start anyway. But I'll wait until we hear from Ellen or David."

They didn't have to wait long. Ellen returned, her face creased with worry. "No sign of him at the house. I'm sure he would have looked after the dog, but no one had fed him since this morning, and the kitchen garbage was all over the house. I don't think he went there at all." She sat down and glanced at Dean. He looked tense, she noted. She felt for him, knowing he wanted more than anything to lead the search. "What should we do now?" she sighed.

"I'm going into town to check out some places Sam said he was going. Other than that, I guess I'll just keep my phone handy. Ellen, are you staying here then?"

Dean answered for her. "I'd rather you wait at David's place, Ellen, in case he calls in or shows up. If he does, you can kick his ass on my behalf. And if you don't mind, I need somebody to pay for a phone connection in here, cuz I'm tapped out. I can't stand laying here, not knowing anything. At least this way you can keep me in the loop."

"Sure, I'll do that." Ellen rose to leave. "but on one condition, Dean Winchester; you keep me in that loop too, you hear? If there's anything you need, you call me, and if you find something out; ditto."

He promised he would. When she'd gone, he turned to Bobby. "Give me your gut feeling here, Bobby...is there any chance at all he flew the coop again? Because if he did, I swear to god, that's_ it._ I've had it; I'm tired, and if nobody is going to stick around to help me with this impossible job they handed me, angel or brother or whatever, then they can all shove it up their chutes, I quit!"

Bobby had no answer to that, other than his assurance that this wasn't a voluntary disappearance this time, which was hardly comforting. "I'm gonna go check some places. In the meantime call me when you get your line. And Dean..?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay cool-headed, alright? I know it ain't easy, but I need you in charge here."

Dean nodded grimly.

* * *

By the time 1:00 a.m. rolled around, Dean had heard repeatedly from everyone. They all reported the same miserable information, that Sam was nowhere, and no one had heard from him. He was bone-tired, and he didn't have the strength to keep his eyes open any longer.

* * *

It was technically early morning when Castiel appeared. It was still pitch dark in Dean's room, save for the glow of various instrument lights. He pulled the cord on the nightlight on Dean's headboard. Dean was fast asleep, lying on his side. Castiel took in his appearance. He was far from the robust and frustrating individual he'd been directed to shadow. He looked pale in the dim light. Weak. It caused the angel to feel a deep pang of sorrow for waiting so long. He reached out and touched Dean's forehead.

Dean was startled awake, It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the thin light, but when he recognized his visitor, his expression grew bitter. "Oh _good._ It's an angel, I'm saved. What the hell do you want? I'm no use to you anymore, can't you see this?" he growled, waving over his motionless lower half.

Castiel sighed. "Dean. I am sorry you've suffered. But I came here to right some things. You don't understand this, but I wanted nothing more than to help you, but there were complications."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, I know all about complications. While you were hanging out with the Trickster, Lilith made me her chew toy, remember? And then your buddy Junkless swoops in to make sure I stay in a chair for the rest of my life. And all you did was give me those dark, sad eyes and say_ Sorry, pal. Tough luck._ I'm tired, what do you want from me now?"

"I want you to stop hurting. I want to help you. I was distracted from my task by Uriel; I don't know why yet. But I'm here to do what I should have done before."

"Oh yeah? And what's that? You gonna put me out of my misery?"

"In a manner of speaking."

Dean's heart began to race with fear; it wasn't the answer he'd expected. "Look, just leave me alone, alright? I don't need that kind of favour, you've done enough!"

Castiel raised his eyes to meet Dean's. "No. You're wrong...I haven't done enough." He closed his eyes and stood in silence for a moment, his hand hovering over Dean where he lay.

Dean panicked, helpless and sure his time was up. "What are you doing? Jesus, don't take me out, please! Sam's missing, he needs me! Cas, don't do this!"

There was no reaction from the angel. Castiel now began to unfasten the brace that encased Dean's back. He pulled up the thin cotton hospital garment, exposing the ugly row of sutures. Dean was still very weak, and he could do nothing to stop him. Castiel hovered over him, intent on his purpose.

Dean whispered a terrified protest. "Stop, Cas! Don't-"

Castiel ignored him. Without warning, he laid a hand flat across the incision on his back, pressing firmly, envisioning the scrambled nerves beneath. Dean grunted in wide-eyed surprise, recoiling with pain.

"Close your eyes!" Castiel warned sharply.

Dean's heart-rate leapt; monitors began beeping alarms. He knew well enough to comply, and he threw an arm over his face. Bright light burst forth from the angel; it shone from his eyes, his mouth, his hand glowed with it as he concentrated. The heat from it seared Dean's skin as it flowed from his fingers. The room was blinding white with ethereal light. Dean arched convulsively, and he gasped. He uttered a strangled howl, his body rigid in spasm. "Stop!" he choked.

Castiel held him down, his hand pressed hard on the wound as Dean struggled against him, minute after agonizing minute. Finally he let go, and the brilliant light faded. Dean collapsed limply against the mattress, clawing at the sheet and cursing through tears as the pain gained momentum and radiated from where he'd been scorched.

Castiel was quiet for a moment. Dean's eyes were clamped tight, and he moaned against the cotton of the pillow held tight in his arms. He couldn't see the toll it took on the angel. Castiel had closed his own eyes, and he staggered on his feet, in danger of collapse. He grasped the bedrail, fingers white, until he overcame the weakness. Finally he spoke, his voice thin and tired. "It's all I can spare, Dean. It's not enough, I'm sorry. But I can't give any more, I'm already going to..." He sighed. "Your nerves are healed. But I can't carry your pain any longer, I need what strength I have left. The rest must mend on it's own. I will pray for you." -_for both of us_- He vanished at that.

The room was spinning, a loud hiss drowned all sound as blackness swept into Dean's vision. He tried to speak, but no words came.

* * *

He hardly heard the commotion. People were suddenly in the room, the lights glaring, voices blurring into muffled noise. David was first by his side. The good doc stared in shock at the unfastened brace, and at the bizarre, blistered mark branded across Dean's back. _A hand_. The mark was in the shape of a hand. David had no idea what new horror had been visited on his helpless friend now. Other medical personnel were checking his vitals, security was alerted. David frantically tried to get through to Dean, to find out what had happened.

Dean was drifting, too weak to surface after the experience. But David's anxious voice finally drew him back to consciousness. "..david." he whispered.

"What happened, Dean? Who did this to you? What attacked you?"

"...toes-"

David was sure Dean was delirious. He held his damp face, trying to force him to stay lucid. "I don't understand, Dean. Please, christ, talk to me!"

"Toes...I can feel my toes."

David's heart skipped. "What?"

Dean didn't answer. He curled up against the intense pain that threatened to make him sick, rocking with increasing agitation.

"My God, Dean!" David stammered. "Are you sure? How?"

"Castiel." Dean ground out. "..aw David, it hurts! Aw christ!" The numbness of his paralysis and Castiel's earlier absorption of the pain Sam had caused had partially shielded him before, but he felt his state in all it's severity now. Whatever Castiel did had worked, but it left all his nerves alert and screaming in protest. David sent one nurse running for meds. He sent the other to call Bobby. Once alone, he held Dean's hand, and Dean gripped it tightly. David shook his head in disbelief as Dean alternated between tearful cursing and laughter.

"Stay with me, Dean; relief is coming-" David offered, deeply concerned.

"Good." Dean panted, still grinning. "I can move, David! I feel it! Everything, just like before! Aw god, he did it!" he laughed through tears. "It just kinda sucks at the moment-"


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter13

"So...Where do do you want to be dropped..?" Sam asked.

His companion smiled back. "It's just ahead. So-where are you headed, then? Are you local?"

He shook his head. "My brother..I'm visiting him, in town." He felt no need to elaborate.

"Oh how nice! You know, this is a lovely city; I hope you can get out to some of the sights." She scanned the roadside, apparently for her destination.

* * *

When the injection began to do it's job, David felt Dean's grip on his hand relax. Dean uncoiled from his tight fetal position and shuddered. "Better." he said, simply.

David had so many questions. "Tell me what you're feeling right now!" he demanded.

Dean pulled himself up to sit, his open brace slipping loose. "Well I'm not feeling what I did five minutes ago, thank god. I forgot how it felt after Sam whumped me by the road. Didn't miss it."

David was still open-mouthed in shock. "You...just sat up, you just pushed yourself up with your own feet-"

"Yeah, that's what I said! I can feel it all, I can move it all, David! Cas came in here, and he did something, It fried me with his hand; hurt like hell, I can't tell you how much, but he did it, David! He fixed the nerves or something. Then he left-" Dean punctuated his words by lifting a foot and rotating it.

David was speechless. "I can't believe this..." he mumbled.

Dean was beginning to feel slightly looped thanks to the shot. He grinned, and tears ran freely down his face. "I know, man. I hardly believe it myself. But he came through! Castiel did his angel-thing and..and-" He stopped and marvelled at his recovered function.

David shook his head and grew serious. "Dean, we need to check you out, we need to run scans, tests-"

Dean shook his head. "No we don't. Nobody can know about this, David; I'll have all kinds of medical geeks swarming here, no offence, and the whole 'miracle' thing is way too much for people to handle; it'd be a circus in here. And I need to focus on what's happening right now. Sam's gone; I have to get out there and find him. Castiel did me a huge favour, but it'll be a detriment to him and to everything we're dealing with if this goes public. Can't you just picture all the 'faithful' coming out of the woodwork, looking to be saved, or fixed; all the tabloid reporters slinking around, trying to get shots of the angel, or the miracle-cure guy?"

David sat back, still stunned, but he nodded distractedly. Dean did have a valid point. He shook away his shock and became all business. "Yeah, I see what you're saying. But I have no idea what's happened to you; I don't know the extent of your 'cure'. Don't get me wrong, Dean; I'm bloody elated for you, but I assisted in the surgery, I know the condition of your spine, I helped screw that metal to your shattered vertebrae! I need to know what's going on in there now! I need to know how we can make sure you stay this way!"

But Dean was already struggling to leave his bed. He pushed himself up gingerly, swinging his legs over the side and discarding the brace that had slipped free. David put a cautioning hand on him. "Dean, for god's sake, don't rush this! We have to know if you're in any shape to move at all, let alone get up. Don't be stupid!"

Dean tried to pull free, but David held on. He stopped then, his common sense finally winning over his feeling of urgency. "Fine!" he growled. "Do whatever scans you need. But make it quick, and keep it quiet. If Sam's out there in Lilith's grip, we had no time to piss away!"

David was relieved. "At least you're thinking clearly. I would have sedated you if I had to. And you might want to get disconnected from a few hoses, there."

Dean looked down at his gown. "No shit. Where's that hot little blonde nurse, She had a real nice touch..."

"No time, remember? Don't get picky now." David did the necessary removals, at which Dean was greatly relieved.

"Alright, now get me under your x-ray, or whatever. You've got ten minutes, 'cuz after that, I'm out of here whether you got your pictures or not."

David grumbled something highly unflattering and told him to wait. He hurried off to clear a spot in the roster. While he was gone, Dean lay back and took a moment to reflect on what had happened. A short time ago, he'd been trying to come to grips with the prospect of life in a chair. He'd felt a deep and bitter anger, especially about Castiel's actions, but the Angel had come through, and in a mere few moments, his life had been profoundly altered, his body whole again, or close enough to it. Castiel had provided him with a miracle after all, and he hardly had the time now to sit back and appreciate it, but he closed his eyes and said a fervent thank-you to him, wherever he was.

David hurried back. "Ok. I think I can do this without too much notice. Lie down, cover up and shut up. I'm going to roll you in fast, and we'll talk as soon as I have some idea about all this."

* * *

David got him in and scanned, and when he returned to where Dean waited impatiently, he shook his head in wonder.

"It's gone. It's all gone, Dean...the metal I put in, the fractures. Your back shows like you were never injured at all... It seems the only reminder you'll have is that burn." He sat down on the bed, shaken and awed by what he'd witnessed, the realization hitting him. It was truly a miraculous event, and he was stunned by his friend's good fortune. "You know, I've seen enough people who's lives were shattered by injuries like this. I've watched them pray for their own miracles, every one of them, and then when they didn't come, I've had to send them on to deal with their lives as they would be from then on. You are one unbelievably lucky bastard..!"

Dean snorted. "Never thought I'd say that, but yeah, I guess I am."

Both were silent for a moment.

Dean finally shrugged it off. "But out of the frying pan, into the fire. I have to go out to find Sam." He stood up shakily, out of practice. David steadied him. The shot was still effective, but he winced, feeling a shadow of pain from the crushing he'd received before. He put a hand to his side, testing one of the places gingerly. "I guess that's gonna hurt like a bitch in a couple of hours."

David nodded. "Your miracle wasn't full spectrum, you still have your injuries from before. And yeah, you will hurt. But you're walking out of here-"

" Hey, I'm not complaining. When I needed to be mobile before, Cas had somehow transfered; _carried _was his word, most of the hurt from what Sam did to me, but when he fixed my back, he warned me he couldn't anymore. Man, I hope he didn't get himself into hot water with all this. I've got to find him and thank him, that's for damned sure." He stopped and thought for a moment. "David, Sam's got my car. I need wheels-"

"You need a driver. Bobby's already on his way. Whatever you're throwing yourself into now, you won't be able to handle it alone in your condition, brass balls or not."

"I can't wait for that, David. I need your truck!"

This time, the doctor dug his heels in. "NO! Damn it, don't be so bloody stubborn! I'm not about to witness a miracle only to let you screw it up by going out there like a blind bull and coming back in a body bag! You may feel invincible at this moment, but when that shot wears off, you'll realize what I'm saying. Come with me to my office; you can hang out there undisturbed until Bobby gets here. In the meantime, I have to come up with some story to cover your disappearance here. I don't know what the hell I'm going to say. And you'd better stay there, or I'll sic Ellen on you. I swear to god, you and your brother are turning my hair white!"

David rarely raised his voice. Dean gave in and followed him. It was the least he could do.

* * *

"So, where did you want to be left?" Sam asked the smiling woman beside him.

"Well.." she said, putting her bag of groceries at her feet. "Let's approach this from a different angle. I can better tell you where I don't want to be dropped."

He turned to her, somewhat confused. "okaay..."

She was fumbling in her purse for something, she continued the conversation as she rooted through it. "I don't want to dropped at the roadside, actually. I don't want to be dropped in the woods. I don't want to be dropped at some hospital ward for hopeless vegetables, and-" She turned to him now, her eyes locked on his. They flashed a solid black. "And I really, really didn't want to be dropped into the pit of hell, you ungrateful, disloyal, selfish sonofabitch-!"

Sam's heart leapt to his throat, he stomped the brakes in a frenzy of panic, his hand on the handle, already opening his door. But it was too late. The woman snarled, she pulled out what she'd been hunting for, held out her hand and maced him until he was screaming. The car interior was fogged with the aerosol torture. He clawed at his face, choking, and unable to see through the burning tears. The Impala still had significant momentum, and it veered into the steep ditch at the roadside, cutting a deep scar into the soft, loose soil as it slid down into the bullrushes at the bottom. It came to a rest there, in the muck.

Ruby pushed him out into the ditch and pulled the keys from the ignition. Sam lay writhing and swearing beside the car door, blinded by the stinging chemical. She walked around and stood over him. "Burns, does it, Sammy?" she mocked without humour. "How's it feel? That was nothing; want to know what I felt after you sent me away?" She kicked him hard where he lay, and he grunted in pain, still struggling to wipe the mace out of his eyes. He couldn't see at all, his eyes still streamed; they felt peeled, or scalded as if it were acid.

"Ruby!" he choked.

"Oh you are a quick thing, aren't you!" She delivered another kick.

"How? How can you be back-?"

"You're an idiot! Same way I came here in the first place. I made the right promises to the right powers. Hell can't hold me, Sam; not now, and not before." She crouched and reached out, stroking his wet cheek in a mockery of tenderness. "I'm very persuasive. Not too many out there who can resist what I can offer... That's not to say it was easy for me. It wasn't. Lilith's crowd was there, of course, waiting for me, Sam. Oh I suffered, I suffered in ways you can't begin to conjure in your worst little-boy nightmares. And all because of you. You put me back down, after all I did for you. It was you and you alone that squashed that pain-in-the-ass by the roadside.. Only you. Not that I can blame you, but you threw it all back on me, now didn't you? You couldn't face your own guilt, and I'm the one that paid for it. I don't think we're friends anymore." The last words were hissed in a terrifying parody of the woman's voice. Sam squinted one eye open, barely able to focus. The image that greeted him struck him cold. Her expression was twisted, hideous. Demonic.

"Ruby, please... let me explain-"

She spat on him. "No. Let _me_ explain. I want you to understand some of what you did to me, Sam Winchester. I don't think mere words will suffice."

* * *

When Bobby burst into David's office, he found Dean sitting quietly, with the open box of hand controls spread out on the desk before him. His expression was so wild-eyed, Dean couldn't help but laugh.

Bobby stood still as Dean slowly rose to his feet.

"It's true, then-!" he stammered.

"Yeah, Bobby. It's-"

He had no time to finish that thought, Bobby launched himself at him and crushed him in a bear hug. His old friend and mentor choked back his tears. "Oh, jesus, boy! I can't believe it! ..I can't believe it-!"

Dean had to pry him off. "Easy there, Bobby, not everything got fixed. Just the important one. My chest is still pretty dented, and I'm starting to feel it now." He sat down wearily again, and Bobby did the same, pulling his chair close and staring at his younger friend.

"So...how? Are you ok? I mean are you sure you can be up and around right now? What did David say?"

"David checked me out. He x-rayed it, and it's a bona-fide Angel Special. No fractures, no fixation rods, no nerve damage. Not even a scar, except for another burned hand print. It was Castiel, he came sometime in the night. He said he couldn't do it before, something to do with that bastard Uriel. But he put his hand on me, and damned near cooked my insides, but when it was over, I could feel and move. Hell, Bobby, I was sure I was gonna..." He cleared his throat and rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes. Hearing his own words as he retold it to Bobby brought it home with a ringing clarity for him. Bobby gripped his shoulder and said nothing, as Dean fought to regain control of his emotions. After some time, Bobby broke their silence.

"Well, guess we owe Castiel a huge thank-you. I don't know how we can even think of the way to say that right. Boy, I can't tell you how relieved I am for you. You are one lucky sonofabitch!"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but unfortunately, it sapped his own strength to do it. That's why he couldn't heal me all the way; he said it was all he could spare. I don't know what state he's in, I'm just hoping he isn't going to put his ass in a sling over this. ...Not that I'd have it any different."

Bobby sat back in his chair. "Huh. Guess nothing comes without a price... Did you tell anybody else yet? Does Ellen know-?"

Dean made a face. "Aw shit. No, I haven't seen her yet. Tell you the truth, I'd like to get the hell out of here before she gets here. I don't think I could take another tear-fest over me, and she's in mother-hen mode, which coming from her, is pretty damned scary."

Bobby had known Ellen for a long time. He knew what a hard-edged banshee she could be, and how equally smothering she was when her maternal instincts kicked in. He knew where Dean was coming from. "Yeah, I hear you." he snorted. "She'll kick our asses from here to Lincoln when she finds out we left, but we'll have to leave it to David to deal with, poor bastard. How about we find some quiet place to grab a beer. There's more we need to talk about."

"God, yeah...a drink sounds pretty damned perfect right about now." Dean pushed himself up with difficulty from the desk edge, and he waited a few moments before he took a step.

Bobby scrutinized him with concern. "Seriously, Dean...are you sure you should be trying to move already? You look pretty damned shaky."

"I am, a little." he admitted. "I'm a bit out of practice, after laying there in bed for so long. But I need to get out there and find Sam. Cas made it possible for me to do that; I can't waste time slowly getting used to walking again, and I'm guessing I'll probably have to run sometime soon, if he's in real trouble." He steadied himself with a hand on Bobby's shoulder. "You got any decent ride? David was going to lend his truck, but I don't know how much is under that hood."

"Yeah. I drove the mustang out. Looks like shit right now, but it's got some balls. And obviously I'll be doing the driving."

Dean flashed him a look of annoyance, but he knew he was right. With the meds he had in his system, he wasn't nearly sharp enough. He glanced back at the desk, where the hand controls lay in disarray.

"Guess you can get rid of that now." Bobby said.

Dean looked up at him. "No. Think I'll hang onto them for a while, Bobby. It meant a lot to me when... maybe I'll find some kid who's in the same boat, who can use them when he's old enough."

Bobby smiled to himself. He gathered it up in its box, and stashed it under David's desk. He took Dean's arm over his shoulder and the two of them hobbled their escape out to the parking lot.

* * *

Sam writhed against the effects of the mace Ruby had sprayed him with. The chemical was powerful; an acrid and burning assault on his senses. But despite the terrible distraction, he was aware of a greater threat to his well-being. Ruby was back in the realm of the living, and it was clear she was not at all happy.

"Ruby-" he begged, "You're right! God, you have every right to be mad at me, I know! I reacted badly, I over-reacted!"

He waited to hear if she'd heard, but there was silence from the demon. He squinted and coughed, clearing away the effects. "I hurt Dean... I nearly killed him, for christ's sakes! I did it with the demon power! And when I couldn't stop what I started, when it took over and I...I kept crushing him, I kept wanting to go farther, push harder, see what I could do! I didn't care any more about how it was affecting him, I wanted to feel the peak, to feel the limits! Oh god, he reached out to me, he was coughing blood, he couldn't speak any more!"

Sam became so distraught that he almost forgot his current circumstance. " And I blamed you! I blamed you for teaching me that, for making me want to kill my own brother!"

Ruby crouched beside him. She grabbed him by his hair and forced him to make eye contact through his tears. "So you tried to kill Dean. Big surprise, Sam...that was just a matter of time. But your whiny rationalizing doesn't mean squat now. Do you have any idea what you sent me back to? Can you even guess? I stood by you, and taught you to be strong and confident in what you were, so that you could defeat Lilith. And when you couldn't control yourself, you took it out on me. Lilith is a powerful demon, Sam. She has legions of servants just waiting to be asked to show their loyalty. Can you even begin to picture what that meant to me once you'd sent me back into their camp? You stupid, weak poseur! You ditched me the second it got a little uncomfortable for you, didn't you? You decided that if you did something you couldn't deal with, it must be some one else's fault!"

He had no defense for it. She was right, everything she said was true. He was nearly at a point of giving in, She had a right to feel this bitter anger, everything she said merely clarified his own thoughts. He'd done it...he'd hurt Dean. Ruby wasn't responsible, not directly. Just because he'd been cocky and felt he was in control of his power, didn't mean she'd forced him to it. He'd chosen his course of action that day, all by himself. A novice race-car driver can't blame his trainers, or even the car itself, if he loses control and causes a hit-and-run.

But that being said, he wasn't ready to give himself up to her vengeance, no matter how well-founded. "Ruby, please; you're right! I was freaked out, I wasn't thinking clearly! I wish I could take back that day, I swear! You didn't deserve what I sent you to face. I'm..I'm sorry-"

She stood over him, breathing heavily with fury, with hate. His conciliatory tone was not at all what she'd expected. She figured he would curse her and blame her; it would have made it easier. She had suffered as a result of his actions. But she also knew that he was still within reach. She still needed him...she still had her agenda. She wanted more than anything to show him in some visceral way what he'd done to her, but she also knew that his feeling of guilty culpability was a valuable tool. It was a difficult choice.

She decided he was too valuable to simply torture to death. Sam Winchester had an extremely important fate, one that she could still control, and his obvious remorse now was an unexpected and welcome twist. But he still needed to pay. She hauled her foot back and delivered a solid kick. It caught his temple, and he lost consciousness in an explosion of stars.

* * *

When he awoke, groggy and reeling, he realized he was solidly trussed. It dawned on him, he was tied and lying atop a gathering of dry brush and branches. _A pyre_. It was a funeral pyre.. Ruby stood beside, arms crossed, smiling in a way that conveyed anything but humour.

"I told you, didn't I? You sent me down to the fire, Sam. You knew what I was facing down there. Now you'll truly understand."

He struggled violently against his bonds. His wild eyes caught her own stony gaze. "Ruby, no! No, please, don't do this! I meant it! I was wrong, I am sorry! Please!"

She had no intention of burning him alive. But his fear that she would was delicious. No, she had a better way to hurt him. She presented him with his own cell phone.

"Time for your last words, Sam. Say goodbye to your sweet brother." She pushed the first speed dial button, and when a predictably familiar voice answered, she held it to Sam's face.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

The thought of going out for a celebratory drink was alluring, but in reality, Dean was too anxious to take the time. Bobby agreed to start the search, provided they at least stop for some fast food and extra large coffees.

"Oh my god, that was freaking beautiful." Dean pronounced of his burger. "Seriously, how the hell do they think anybody will survive in there with the crap they feed you? I felt like offing myself over the damned tapioca alone."

"I think that's the point, Dean. They don't want to make it too comfortable for you, they want to push you through the doors as soon as possible."

"Huh. I guess so. Can't complain, though. They were all pretty upbeat and supportive while I was in there. I felt like it was a freaking twilight zone full of Care Bears. I guess I kind of gave them all a hard time..."

Bobby snorted. "No! You?"

Dean smiled wryly. "Yeah, shut-up. But poor David's got his hands full, explaining away my absence. Christ, he's been great. He's always great."

Bobby nodded in agreement. They owed a lot to David Bowman. If there was a heaven at the end of it all, then David had a poolside hammock reserved in it. They lapsed into silence for a while, engrossed in the tumultuous events of late.

* * *

It had been hours. They'd driven everywhere in a fruitless bid to follow Sam's trail, based on the scant information they had. Library. Book stores. A check of David's place. Even the University campus. Every mile between those points was scrutinized, but there was no sign of him, nor of the Impala. The light was beginning to wane, and any remaining optimism fled with it. Bobby had grilled Dean about his experience, and Dean did his best to fill in the details of his recovery. He was sick of talking about it, and he hadn't had adequate time to reflect on it all himself.. He was more concerned about Sam at the moment anyway. It kept his stomach in a tight and anxious knot, and he was bone-tired and feeling the omnipresent ache of his bruised and fractured ribs. One blessing replaced by one curse; the pendulum seemed to swing endlessly. _-when the hell was he ever gonna get a break-?_

Bobby could see him wilting. He knew better than to suggest he crash in the back seat, but he was concerned at the toll it was taking, especially if they were going to be pressed into action anytime soon.

Dean shifted and squirmed in growing discomfort. He found it increasingly difficult to find a position that didn't aggravate his pain, and his face was taut with the strain. Bobby glanced at him from time to time, realizing the depth of distress and turmoil the younger man had endured in the past days. Poor bastard had been through an emotional wringer, without a chance to come up for air. As if the coming threat of the Apocalypse weren't enough for a body to deal with. He knew Dean still struggled with thoughts of unworthiness, with a fear of inadequacy in this bitter role. He was devoted to his brother; always had been. Bobby had been witness to countless occasions where Dean had sacrificed himself on Sam's behalf. It had been that way since they were kids, and while it was admirable, Bobby couldn't help but feel a tide of anger rise. It was John who'd drilled it into his brain to do so. And it was wrong, it was unfair, it was... The kid never caught a break from his old man; if Sam so much as broke a finger nail, John would tear Dean a new one for being lax in his vigilance. No wonder he was fuelled by guilt. John had made sure, however unintentionally, that Dean placed himself second to nearly everyone and everything. Especially his kin.

Dean broke through his reverie. "What do you see is the likely scenario here, Bobby? I mean what the hell could have happened?"

Bobby didn't know what to say. He honestly didn't think that Sam had run off again. But the alternative was worse. He knew that Dean expected him to speak plainly, and he did. "Christ, Dean, I got no real theory. I almost wish he was just being a dick and simply couldn't handle all this. But I think probably somebody's got him. All we got now is the question of who. Lilith is out there, she's got some reason to want to get him alone; we already saw that. Could be she's at it again. He also told me that he'd exorcised Ruby, after he let loose on you and hurt you. Maybe she found her way back, I dunno. Or maybe there's one of a million other freaks that's got their hands on him...we won't know til we find some hint of where he is. " He sighed dejectedly. "And where that hint will come from is a damned good question, cuz right now we're just burning gas and spinning our wheels."

Dean hadn't expected a pep-talk, but hearing one now would have been helpful. He too was at a loss; his natural leadership qualities had fled, and he had no idea what to do next. He swore softly, several times.

Bobby sighed. "Dean, this is pointless. Let's go back to David's. You need to rest up, your head's just about hitting the dash. We're not making any inroads out here tonight; best we start fresh in the morning."

Dean sighed wearily. He was at the breaking point. His shot had long since worn off and he was in relentless pain now, and too tired to think. He shifted again in the seat, and rested his head back against the dusty fabric. "..yeah... fine, let's head to David's."

Bobby took the nearest left, and they drove back in the general direction they'd travelled. He watched as Dean closed his eyes and shut the world out. He felt like doing so himself. He drove on grimly, wishing they could all wake up to a brand new, sunny day.

His attention was diverted then, his tired eyes picking up the reflection in the ditch. Slowing down, he scanned below to see what had shone there. It was a car. He couldn't see much of it in the gloom, but it had apparently missed the turn or something, the front end mired in the muck at the ditch bottom. The driver's door was open, the interior light still glowing weakly, on the verge of being extinguished along with the remaining juice in the battery. Bobby ground to a halt on the shoulder, and rummaged for his flashlight. Dean roused himself from half sleep.

"What's going on?"

"Car in the ditch...light's still on inside." He found what he sought, and got out into the cool night air. Dean sat up stiffly, intending to join him, but by the time he'd mustered the strength, Bobby had already returned.

"Dean, I think you better come see this."

Dean got out and stood at the roadside. Bobby shone the light over the vehicle.

"Aw christ!" he swore. "My car."

* * *

Sam had no idea what she was looking for out of this. If she wanted his death as her revenge, then why hadn't she done it by now..? She'd dialed Dean, and pressed the phone against his cheek. She was furious, he could see the hatred burning in her black eyes. What the hell could she want now? He was on a pile of twigs, for god's sake; she had the lighter in her hand, what was she waiting for? He knew his brother was confined to a bed, there was nothing either of them could do.

She flicked the flame on the lighter, over and over, waiting impatiently for the conversation. Sam was silent, and it seemed there was no one demanding on the other end. Finally she exploded in rage. "Say something, damn it! Tell him what you're doing here!"

"It's his voicemail!" he growled back. "Dean's not answering!"

She snatched the phone back and listened. When it was clear that Sam was truthful, she threw it to the ground in disgust. She wanted Dean here; she knew if he'd heard his brother's strained voice, he'd fly to his side, just as always. "Well where is he then? I thought you two were inseparable? I thought he never let you off-leash alone!"

"He can't answer, you stupid bitch!" Sam snarled. "He's in the hospital. Your crony Lilith did her best to wreck his life. After I sent you down, she came here for me, and when he got between us, she broke his back! I don't know what the hell you're looking to accomplish here, but Dean isn't coming after me! He can't even get up out of bed!"

It was a twist to the sordid tale that caught her completely off guard. The mighty Dean Winchester, irritating thorn in her side, now a helpless cripple? It was so unexpected, so wonderfully maudlin; it almost made up for what Sam had done. "You're lying-"

Sam swore bitterly. "No, Ruby. I wish to god I was. Dean will be in a wheelchair until the day he dies, and all because of me. Are you happy? Does that cheer you up?"

It did, actually. ..If it was true. She stopped flicking the lighter and peered closely at him. There were tears in his eyes, fresh ones. Sam was always earnest, if nothing else, and his expression was one of pure mysery. She did believe him, and she felt a wave of elation.

* * *

Dean forgot his weariness. He pored over the Impala, searching for evidence of his brother, whether good or otherwise. There was no sign of struggle in the car; no blood, thank god. The was only the open door, a paper bag of wilting vegetables, and the faint odour of...what, a chemical? Something acrid and eye-watering. "I don't see anything." he said tensely.

Bobby agreed. "Smells like something."

"Yeah." Dean reached for the aerosol can on the floor, holding it up to the light. "Christ, it's mace! He was maced!" He whipped the can away angrily. "Looks like he picked the wrong chick up!"

Bobby nodded, and cast his light over the ground beside the open door. There was a flattening of the weeds, some disturbance. "Dean-"

Dean crouched and scanned what he pointed at. "Yeah, somebody hit the dirt here." He was relieved to find no other evidence of violence. The light was nearly absent now. Bobby shone his torch in a wide arc until he found further tracks.

"Something being dragged through the weeds here-" He followed the marks, cursing when they petered out where the grass grew shorter. "I can't see where they go."

Dean sat down at the ditch edge, dropping his head into his hand for a moment. He felt a tide of panic. Sam had obviously fallen into something ugly, and every second counted. But in the darkness, they had no idea which way to go. "We're screwed, Bobby. Sam's screwed. Who the hell knows what they're doing with him, while we sit here blind!"

Bobby crouched in front of him. "It ain't time to panic, boy. Stay with me here, let's just think for a minute. We can start by calling for him. I don't think he can be too far, if they were on foot; with that door open, the battery would've been dead by now."

Dean nodded without raising his head. He pressed a hand to his most troublesome side with a quiet groan. "You better do the yelling. I can't right now."

Bobby turned away from the car and faced the shapeless dark beyond. He called Sam's name, loudly, and they waited in silence for anything that could be a response. Only the rustling leaves and the occasional whine of a mosquito reached their straining ears. Bobby tried again, and the result was the same lonely silence. He glanced at Dean, who sat hunched in dejected and pained silence on the gravel. He tried a third time, hollering as loudly as he could. As they stared out into the deepening blackness, a faint sound caught their attention.

Dean whipped his head up. "Bobby-?"

Bobby held his hand up in caution. He lowered his voice now to a hoarse whisper. "Yeah...I heard it too-"

* * *

Sam hadn't answered Bobby's call. He never heard it. What Bobby did hear was an echo of his expletive-laden tirade at the current embodiment of Ruby.

"You're actually happy about that? My brother's a paraplegic, and it makes your day? Jesus, I can't believe I ever felt guilty about you! You are a heartless piece of shit!"

Ruby's ear to ear smile faded. "What did you expect, Sam? That I'd be suddenly struck by the exquisite sadness of that? That I'd be overwhelmed by some sappy emotional response to poor big brother's tragic plight? He's wanted me dead or worse since the day I took you under my wing. He never once gave me a chance, he never listened to me, and he never ever conceded that maybe I actually had your best interest at heart. I've saved his ass time and again, but he's tried to kill me how many times? And you're surprised now that I could somehow be pleased that my most ardent enemy's been put down! "

Sam stared at her in dismay. It was so hard to reconcile this frumpy, middle-aged and bitter incarnation of Ruby with the willowy girl he'd shared his bed with. But worse was her callous disdain for everything that had happened. Sure, he knew that Dean was hardly her favourite person, but christ-to revel in his misery was just...

She read his mind. "What? You can't believe I'd be so cold? Ugh, you Winchesters are such tunnel-visioned jack-asses! Let's recap, shall we? I guide you, help you, I save you, countless times, you and Dean; and then...Disaster! Sam snaps after years of subjugation, discovers the depths of his own nature and he lets loose and squashes his oppressive big brother. And who pays? Who's to blame? Oh, well it must be Ruby's fault; she's a demon, she's from Hell! It _can't_ be Sam; Sam is Good, he loves his loud-mouthed bully brother; he's family, and would never do anything like this!"

Sam closed his eyes. She was right...again she was agonizingly accurate. He squirmed against his bed of twigs and turned to her. "I'm sorry. For what it's worth, I am really, truly sorry. I freaked out when I brought this down on him. I didn't want to believe it was me, that it was my doing, and I needed a scapegoat. You were handy, and I'm sorry I sent you down...I'm sorry you were hurt because of me."

She stared at him. She wasn't quite sure what to make of his admissions. "Hardly makes up for what I endured because of you."

He didn't answer. There was nothing much to say. Ruby watched him sourly for several moments. She sighed with annoyance and sat down. "You know...you could at least beg a little."

"Would it make a difference?"

"Maybe. Tell me what happened after you sent me down. What happened when Lilith came?"

He was careful now. His situation was precarious, he could be a human torch at any moment depending on her mood. She seemed calmer, and he prayed he'd mollified her a little. "I went back to the roadside, to find Dean. I was sure he was dead, after what I did, but the car was gone, and so was he. I didn't know what to think, I couldn't even hope he was still living, so I walked around, completely screwed up. I was pretty freaked, and I found a barn to hole up in. That's when she came. She started saying she wanted a truce, or some compromise, I don't know why. But Dean came, before we really got into it. She was pissed, and she started...she smashed him against a beam and.."

He paused, reliving that horror. He cleared his throat and continued. "Well anyway, bottom line is; Castiel and Uriel showed up and Lilith fled. Dean's in intensive care, in Atlanta. He's paralysed. They did what they could, and there's nothing that can change that now. I don't know what she was really after, but with you out of the way, I guess she figured she had an advantage."

Ruby mulled that over. If Lilith made her move only when Ruby was out of the way, it meant that her own work here on the surface was actually a significant threat to the Demon's scheme. Clearly Lilith was nervous about her alliance with the Winchester wunderkind. She put down the lighter and levelled her gaze at him. "Hmm. What a bitch. I guess when she knew I wasn't training you anymore, she figured it was a good point to make some deal. It mean's she feels threatened..."

Sam saw that she was moving past her irrational fury. "I think you're right. And now that you made it back, she's not in the driver's seat anymore. Lilith is running scared, Ruby. She knows that you're a benefit to our cause-"

She stared hard a him. "A benefit to the cause... But do _you-? _You sent me down to horror, Sam. Sheer, torturous misery. Ask your brother what that's like!"

That brought it into sharp focus for him. He knew that Dean had suffered terror and torture, again because of him. He dropped his gaze, almost forgetting his own peril. "God, Ruby...I reacted like an idiot."

Her posture relaxed slightly. "Oh, news flash. Yeah, you did." She sighed. "We're both lucky I know my way out. But I guess I sort of understand where you were coming from." She didn't, really; not totally. She wanted to fry his nads to the scorched earth after what he'd done to her. But the bigger picture was at stake. She squelched her need for immediate vengeance, at least for now, and concentrated on repairing and culturing their earlier relationship. At least Dean Winchester was neutralized...it made her task a little easier without his omnipresent scrutiny and influence. She decided to play up some sympathy. "So. You found that you had power you couldn't control. It was a shock; I can see that. You blamed me, because I was teaching you about it. I can see that too, although it hurts to say so. But now what?"

He was at a loss. Trussed, on top of a burn pile, with a demon ready to torch him, it was pretty much in her court.

* * *

Bobby caught Dean's eye in the darkness. "Don't make any more sound-" he whispered tersely.

Dean nodded, and they listened for some time in silence. When nothing more reached their ears, Dean motioned to Bobby to return to the car where they could talk safely.

"Was it him?" Bobby asked.

"Hard to say, but it sounded like it. It was his cadence, his voice... He sounded pissed."

Bobby nodded in agreement. "Well at least if it is him out there, he's obviously healthy enough to shout at somebody. We're gonna have to get closer..."

"Yeah, but what the hell do we do once we're there? If it's either of those demon bitches, then it isn't just Sam who's in danger of getting ganked. And if it's something else, we need to load up with fire power before we get anywhere near. I have guns in the Impala trunk, along with anything else we need to stop whatever's threatening him." He grimaced at the end of his statement, the pain in his side and chest was raging from the activity after his time spent immobile in bed mere hours before. He pressed his hand against the back of the seat and sat up straighter.

It wasn't lost on Bobby. "And what about you? Hell, Dean, I'm ready to go over the hill to save your brother, but I can't do it alone, and you don't look like you're in any shape to me to take this on-"

"Never mind me!" Dean snapped. "I'm sore, and it's obvious, but so what? When I need to move, I can do whatever I have to, alright? Quit treating me like an invalid!"

"Hey, settle down! I'm not saying you're weak here, damn it! But I just saw you regain your life as you knew it a few hours ago! I don't wanna see you lose it again now because we dove into some unknown situation half-cocked and running on emotion and nothing else! We need to be armed properly, and that don't mean guns alone!"

Dean realized his friend's position. "Fine...I hear you. Guns and ammo for living targets. What do you have in mind then for the rest then?"

Bobby frowned. He didn't have much. "Gotta be the element of surprise. Neither one of us has anything those demons want, so there ain't gonna be any bargaining. All we can do is trap them quick, if we can, and then see what we need to do in the following seconds to get Sam out of harm's way. After that, it's run like hell, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless we can get Sam into a position where he can use his power to stop them permanently-"

Dean's eyes widened in furious shock. "Are you nuts? The whole freaking point here is that his demon shit is wrong! It's dangerous, and he needs to stay the hell away from that power before he turns into one of those evil SOBs! Didn't you pick up on what happened to me at the roadside, for christ's sake? I saw his eyes change, Bobby! I felt that power crushing me, and I saw my own brother's humanity fall away long enough to nearly kill me! I'm in this shape now because of it, and you want to encourage him to fire it up again?"

Bobby expected the reaction, he was braced for it. "Well then you tell me what the plan is! I know what happened, and I don't want to bring that up to the surface anymore than you do. But the fact is, he does have the ability. He already put Ruby back down once, he can do it again if he had to. And if it's Lilith here now, well, jesus, I don't know what we could do against her anyway...we'd just be diving headfirst into our own bloodbath!"

Dean swore and covered his eyes, his agitation threatening to make him puke. He sat, rigid, as he raged in silence. "So you're saying that we have nothing, that if it turns out to be Ruby or some other B-grade demon, we'll need to have Sam go red-eye to save our asses; and if it's Lilith, we might as well crawl back out of the bushes with our tails between our legs and head for home without him. That's a helluva choice!"

"No! No, that ain't what I'm saying! Christ, I don't know what I'm saying here, other than this is as close to suicide as we can get. I would never suggest we abandon Sam, but I got no solutions, Dean. I just want to make sure you and me both understand the scenario here, before we run out into the lion's den!"

Dean nodded, finally. "I understand it. And he's my blood not yours. No reason you should sacrifice yourself for either of us."

Bobby was cut to his core by those words. "You've got no right to say that to me. I've put my neck on the block for you before, more than once, and you've both done it for me. I never hesitated then, and I'm not hesitating now, so don't you even hint that that's the case! I just wanted to make sure we were ready to go in, knowing the chances of how it's likely to go down!"

Dean immediately regretted saying it. "Bobby, I wasn't saying that. I just meant... this isn't a requirement for you, like it is for me. I have no choice, but you do."

Bobby snorted. "Aw hell, Dean. You boys don't have any dibs on front-row seats for the apocalypse. We all do. This thing here is my disaster as much as it is a Winchester's. And now that we have all that bullshit out of the way, we need some real strategy now. We can carry salt, and throw a ring around the three of us as soon as we have him, but that's a temporary fix; those bastards always find a way to breach the line. But it gives us a bit of time. But we need to get to that point, and to do it we'll need to distract or neutralize whoever is there first. We don't know the terrain, but at least it's dark; it hides us as much as it blinds us."

Dean thought hard. "Bobby, do you have a blanket or something in the trunk?"

"Yeah."

"Could you draw a devil trap on it? Could we use it to throw over a demon and hold them?"

"Well I don't know... never done it. It could work...if we can get it square over them. How would we do that?"

"Creep up as close as we can, I guess. Then you come out and distract them, and I run full-on into them with the blanket held out, and pin them to the ground."

"Great...so I'm bait then. But what if it ain't a run-of-the-mill demon? What if it's Lilith?"

Dean met his eyes. "Then I run at her anyway. I don't care if it's Jesus Christ himself; if he's hurting Sam, I'm going after him anyway. You just take care of the salting. Never mind anything else"

Bobby stared back for a moment. He agreed, then. _What else could he do_?

Dean was measuring his own breathing, trying to alleviate his pain. Bobby reached into the glove-box, producing a flask. He handed it to Dean. "Here. Here's to the good Lord being awake this particular hour."

Dean took it, uncapping it. He sniffed it. "Is this blessed?"

Bobby smiled. "Cursed maybe. Best twelve year old scotch a man of my means can afford."

Dean took a healthy swig and passed it back. Bobby did the same.

"Dean...I knew your dad a long time. He was a flawed man; an obsessive, driven sonofabitch. Just like the rest of us in this game I guess... But he was a good man, a proud daddy, wounded widower, and a damned good hunter. I'm blessed to know his firstborn. I feel like honourary family. I'd have been well pleased to call his boys kin."

Dean stared down at the floor. Bobby's statement was telling. It was heartfelt, and it gave him strength. And it was final.

"Bobby. You aren't honourary. For what it's worth, and for all the questionable benefits this brings; you are family. Here's to that. Now let's go kick some demon ass!"


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Sam thought it best to keep her talking. He didn't want her to remember why she'd gone to these lengths to trap him. And Ruby, for her part, was intent on frightening him, but ultimately cementing his allegiance to her again. Her own need for vengeance was something she could put on the back burner for now. She regretted not being able to spend some of her anger on the brother, but she'd roll with it.

"Ruby, how can I convince you that I'm sincere..? How can I make it up to you?" He secretly twisted and turned his hands, feeling a relative looseness to the bindings.

She glared at him. "Not sure you can, Sam, short of suffering what I had to... But maybe you can convince me, if you try real hard. Why don't you tell me exactly what you felt when you let your power loose on Dean?"

He groaned and closed his eyes. "No, come on, Ruby, don't make me relive that.."

"Then I guess you aren't very devoted to the cause of making it up to me, are you? You refuse the first thing I ask."

He sighed unhappily. "Ok, fine, point taken. I'll try to tell you, but I blocked alot of it out. We got out of the car, after we argued. I figured that it would go the same way as it has before, when we pissed each other off to that point. Trade a couple of punches, swear alot, say our piece, and then we'd get over it. But I was so damned mad, and he was too. It just escalated, and then I just wanted him to shut up about everything, I wanted him to feel what I could do, and understand the strength of the advantage it could give us...like you keep telling me. So I let it out, just a little. But it was like the tip of an iceberg; the second I let loose with it, it took over. I felt...I don't know, powerful, like there was heat and electricity flowing through me. I saw when he started to feel the constriction. I was squeezing his chest. He tried to talk me back down, it was really hurting him. But it felt so damned good to do it, to watch him squirm. I couldn't pull it back, I just wanted to squeeze harder. He was on the ground, coughing blood, and I still wanted more..."

"Why'd you stop?"

He snapped out of his miserable remembrance. "What?"

"Why didn't you keep going until he was dead? You said you wanted to, and that the power was taking you over.."

"I didn't stop. He stopped me. He got a grip on his gun before he passed out. He shot me. It snapped me out of it, and when I saw him lying so still there, in the dirt, I thought he was dead. I ran away after that."

He could see the rapturous expression of approval on her face. It disgusted him, but he kept it to himself.

"You experienced a little taste of what it could be like for you, Sam. That power, all in your hands, to do with as you saw fit. You were overwhelmed by it this time, because it is so strong in you, and you don't know how to contain it once you let it out. That's why you need me. I can show you how to tame it, how to master it."

She was hardly antagonistic now. He felt a ray of hope that he could actually make it out of the situation unharmed. He decided it was best to agree with her. "I see that now, Ruby. The whole thing was so awful, I mean he's my brother, for god's sake. But it was good, that power. Scares the shit out of me, though. I wish I could get us back to where we were, you and me. I really do need your help..."

She smiled now. _-I win_-

He pushed his luck. "Any chance you could untie me...?"

"Maybe.. But you still need to prove to me that you won't ever do something like that to me again. A girl has to trust her fella, Sam. I need to be able to-"

She stopped abruptly. A snap, out there in the dark. She was sure she'd heard other faint sounds, but she'd dismissed them as the random activity of night creatures. Well, these were creatures alright, but their movement far from random; it was purposeful, and stealthy. She stayed silent for a while, listening. Sam thought he picked up something too as he strained to hear.

She turned to him, her face hard again. "Friends of yours?"

"No, I swear! Nobody has a clue where I am right now!"

"Shut up!" she growled. She turned again to face the gloom of the trees. "I know you're there. I can smell you!" she shouted loudly.

* * *

Bobby shot a look of alarm to Dean. The jig was up. She knew they were skulking closer. Dean stretched his blanket trap wide between his hands, and nodded to Bobby. _Showtime-_

Bobby had his open salt tin ready, tucked awkwardly into his waistband beneath his plaid jacket. He rose slowly, stepping out from behind the brush and raising his hands in a show of faith. "Easy. I'm just here to talk to Sam. I found the car in the ditch, figured he was here somewhere." He continued to advance toward them carefully. "Sam, you alright?"

"Yeah, Bobby. It's Ruby, and it's ok, we're just talking." The last thing Sam wanted now was the escalation of this. While he was relieved to see his friend, it was lousy timing. He'd gotten her to calm down and discuss things, and he was sure that the threat to his life lessened minute by minute while they hashed it out. And he'd been twisting and working his sweating wrists against the cord all the while. Bobby's sudden arrival threw out any predictability, and he saw her hackles rise.

"Talking? What kind of conversation happens between a man tied on top of a burn-pile and a demon bitch with a grudge and a lighter?" Bobby demanded. It was said loudly, for Dean's benefit.

Sam glanced fearfully at her. "Bobby, stay there. Ruby and I had some things to work out. It'll be ok-"

"Like hell it will! Are you crazy, boy? Nobody who wants to work things out ties a man onto a funeral pyre! And you, you damned Demon trash; get the hell away from him before I burn off that smirk with a holy face wash!"

Ruby whirled away from Sam and stalked toward Bobby. She was a hair trigger away from attacking him, but she knew this man was dear to Sam, and to harm him now would jeopardize her cause. But god, she wanted to smoke him where he stood. She stopped a safe distance from him, in case he followed through with his holy water threat. Her eyes were black with suppressed malice. "You faded, moldy old hobo. Listen to Sam, he knows what he's doing. Sam knows where we stand, and you're in the way as of now. I don't take well to obstacles. You don't want to provoke me right now, trust me. You know, I helped Sam, I helped all of you, and you never opened your narrow little minds to see that. You have no idea what you're taking on with me, so back off or you won't live to see morning!"

"Helped? You think teaching him to turn on his own brother was help?"

She smiled in an ugly, gloating way. "Oh right. Poor, poor Dean, all limp in his little bed. Breaks my heart. Leave now, unless you want to end up the same way!"

"I ain't leaving without him." Bobby growled defiantly. He prayed that Dean was close to springing, he didn't like the way she stared at him now.

Her sneer faded. She raised her hand and Bobby cried out, his feet swept out from under him. "Damn you!" he snarled, on his knees and pinned by her demonic whim. She curled her hand into a fist and he blanched, clutching his chest.

"Uh oh. Heart giving you trouble there, old man? Better be still, maybe it will go away."

Sam shouted anxiously. "Bobby, don't! Don't piss her off! Ruby, please, leave him alone!"

* * *

Her attention was drawn away for a moment. As Bobby regained his breath and his chest pains faded, Dean chose his moment to act. He leapt from his hiding place, blanket held open, and bore down on her where she stood. His timing was excellent; he nearly had her. But his boot tangled in the dragging blanket edge, and still unsteady from his recent experiences, he stumbled and crashed against her. It sent the two of them down hard against the ground.

Sam sat up high on the brush pile, shocked and straining to adjust his eyes in the darkness. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Dean! Dean? Bobby, what the hell?"

Bobby was up and running. He reached Sam where he was trussed and dragged him off the pile to the ground, whipping out the tin of salt and pouring a crude and hasty circle. He panted with the effort, and both turned toward the screaming tussle beyond. He answered Sam's question tersely. "Castiel healed him. Stay here, Sam; I'm going out there!"

Sam was still tied at the wrists and ankles, he had no way to stop him. "No, let me! She'll listen to me, she was nearly there! Damn it!" He abandoned the safety of the circle, and ignoring his disadvantage, he hopped after him and dove into the fray. Ruby was clawing at Dean's eyes as the two rolled over and over in the dirt. Dean had no chance to get the blanket over her, it was hopelessly entwined around them as they wrestled, and it was all he could do to keep her nails from blinding him. Sam plowed into them, separating them for a moment. Dean scrambled to his feet, as she squirmed free of Sam's weight and backed away from them.

"Ruby, please, I'll send them away! Please listen to me-" Sam panted.

She turned to him, her eyes black with hate. "You conniving liar!" she hissed. "I believed you! I swallowed the whole load of crap! Poor Dean, lying helpless in his bed! Poor Sam, filled with remorse and regret and tearful apologies! What a sad, sad story! Oh, but look, here's Dean after all! And look, he's walking! It's a blessed miracle!" She made a violent motion with her hand and he flew back along the ground, driven hard against the brush pile again. He struggled wildly, but her power held him there.

"No! Ruby, wait! It was all true, he was-"

"Shut up!" she screeched She turned her attention to where Dean stood swaying, and applied the same treatment. He was tossed like a toy, crashing high against the limbs of the trees behind him. He fell hard to the ground, winded and cursing her. She stalked back to where Sam twisted desperately against her hold. "I can't believe I felt sorry for you! You had me so fooled, I almost let you go. You were that close to coming out of this alive! Well welcome to my playhouse, Sam! I'll see you all in hell!" .

She flicked the lighter and held the flame to the brush pile. The dry tinder caught immediately, and he would have been well on his way to immolation in seconds, but his desperate working of the ropes at his wrists had paid off. Her current matronly form wasn't nearly as strong as the young, athletic body she was used to; she'd done a poor job of tying him tightly. He slipped his hands apart and shoved her away, rolling off the pile as the flames began to crackle and leap. He bowled her over, flattening her to the ground with the force and weight of his big frame. Shaking his hands free of the loose cord, he pulled off the rope at his ankles and ran to where Dean lay in a tangled heap at the base of the tree.

Ruby screamed in fury and flew at him. She reached him as he knelt over his brother. She clawed and kicked, so vicious with her anger that she didn't think to use anything against him at that moment other than her nails, teeth and feet. He spun and pried her off, round-housing her with a powerful swing that knocked her back and left her reeling. She regrouped just as Bobby reached them. He doused her with water from his flask, and Ruby wailed as the blessed liquid scalded her. But her fury was so mindless now that it hardly slowed her at all. Dean shouted in warning as she shook it off and raised her hand again. She howled vile profanities, her black eyes glowing with fury. Dean was torn from Sam's grasp and lifted violently again. His body thrashed through the unyielding limbs of the stout hardwoods. He screamed; battered and torn by the branches and trunks, and finally dropped heavily back down to the ground. She turned her attentions to Bobby. In seconds, she crushed the older man's heart, and he fell, gasping. Horrified, Sam made a valiant last leap toward her.

* * *

He was surpassed by a streak of blinding light. Castiel appeared between them, holding Sam at bay and shouting at him to close his eyes as he grabbed her at her throat and began a powerful exorcism. Ruby screamed and thrashed, breaking free of him and pitting her own powers against the angel. In his weakened state, Castiel couldn't deflect it. Invisible claws tore at him, blood began to run from his wounds and he staggered under the brunt of her attack. But he fought with all he had left. He rallied, and his eyes shone bright with the effort and Ruby faltered. She stumbled back from him, incandescence spilling from her own eyes and mouth. The place was blinding with blue white light, and on the verge of being destroyed, the Demon howled in pure rage and fled from her host. Black sulphurous filth poured from her, a twisting column that gathered in a shapeless cloud above before dissipating into the night.

Castiel let go of Sam, falling in wounded exhaustion.. The young man pushed away from him with a strangled cry, and ran to the place where Dean had fallen.

"Dean! -Dean!" He grabbed Dean's blood-soaked shirt frantically, shaking him in a demand that he still be alive. Dean moaned and turned to him, breathing in spastic gasps as blood frothed from his mouth. The scene was well illuminated now, as the brush pile fire rose higher , casting warm light and dancing shadows. Dean was bloodied, and the broken position in which he'd landed struck terror into Sam's heart. Dean's pupils were dilated wide, unresponsive despite the growing brightness. His lips moved to say something, but he couldn't.

"don't talk...don't talk, Dean! I'll get you home, I'll get you to David's, aw jesus, please, just hang on-"

The blood in his throat was choking him, Dean coughed and gripped Sam's arm. Vision failing, his eyes searched wildly for comfort, filled with pain and panic.

"no... no..." Sam wept. "Don't you die on me now-!" Dean's breathing grew strained and irregular. Sam threw his head back and screamed Bobby's name, begging him desperately to come and help, but Bobby lay motionless a dozen yards away, eyes fixed and unseeing, shock frozen on his face. His days of rescuing them were over.

Sam turned back to Dean, he pulled him close, whispering fervently. "Don't leave me! Don't leave me, Dean-"

Dean shuddered. He stopped gasping, his hand fell away and his pained expression relaxed into a bland stare. Sam pressed his ear desperately to his chest. There was nothing, no heartbeat, no other sound but a gurgling in his airways.

Castiel stood up from where he'd fallen. He staggered toward the two brothers, staring in horror at the young man sobbing and stroking his brother's bloodied hair. Dean Winchester lay wide-eyed in death, Castiel could feel the lifelessness in the body sprawled there. He fell to his knees, reaching out anyway. His touch confirmed what he already knew.

Sam rocked, holding Dean tightly to him, weeping quietly. "You're too late. You're always too late. Dean's dead...my brother is dead. She killed him, and you and God were useless! It's over...it's over!" His words became incoherent, and he cried hopelessly. After a while, he turned to Castiel. "Leave me alone! I started this, but I'm finished here...I don't care about the rest of it, I don't care about you, or God, or Lucifer-there's nothing left now-there's nothing left-"

Castiel was struck mute by the bitter injustice of it all. He fell forward, supporting himself with one hand. He was weaving, barely having the strength to stay conscious. The battle with Ruby had drained him, Blood continued to stream from his hair, clouding his vision. He couldn't believe he'd failed...despite the fact that she'd fled finally, he'd lost the precious thing he was charged with guarding, the life of Dean Winchester. He wanted so badly to undo this, he wanted to say how sorry he was, but he had nothing left. He sat, tears diluting the red that was streaked across his face. He shook his head in disbelief and shock. His Lord hadn't intervened. He'd allowed it to happen, despite Castiel's valiant efforts, despite his ardent prayers for help. Dean Winchester was supposed to be a key in the coming battle. It was inconceivable, it was so terribly, hideously wrong...

He felt his last strength failing him. Dazed, he turned to Sam slowly, powerless to change any of it, nothing but misery left in his eyes. He trembled in weak and wordless stupor as Sam drew the gun from Dean's jacket and pressed the heavy muzzle to his own temple. He met Castiel's gaze for a moment, his eyes filled with raw and inconsolable grief. Then he closed them, and pulled the trigger.

Castiel gasped at the sharp report, his howl of protest caught in his throat. Blood and grey matter spattered across the angel's face and the young man slumped across his dead brother's chest. Castiel was speechless with horror for an eternity. Then he raised his head to the sky and wailed, long and hard, out to the emptiness.

The battered angel stumbled away from the carnage. It was too much, it was more than he could absorb, and he wandered around the site in a daze. He was beyond distraught, and he was barely aware of his own footfalls on the uneven ground. He'd spent all his energy, he had nothing left to even begin to make any sense of this. He'd closed Dean Winchester's staring eyes. He couldn't even bear to look at Sam. Bobby Singer was dead, his body already frozen in rigor by the time he'd found him. And the Demon Ruby had fled.

He stood in the midst of the tragedy, mute with confusion and grief. God, for his part, remained silent. It had all come to a premature end, everything he'd been prepared for, everything he'd come to believe. He had no idea where to turn now.

He'd checked time and time again. The reality did not change, they were all dead. Finally he couldn't stand the stink of sulphur and blood and death any longer. He wished himself away, to his quiet bench beneath the chestnut tree. Once there, in the only place that ever felt whole, or right...he curled up and wept.

* * *

His sorrow was interrupted finally. Red eyed and shaking, he turned to the voice that had addressed him.

"What? What did you say..?"

The figure sat next to him, smiling with a mischievous confidence. "I said Why the long face-?"

Castiel sat up with difficulty. "You. You. Why are you here..? Do you know what's happened? I pray you don't, because to think otherwise is..." He didn't finish He turned away from Trickster, too weak to address the enormity of what had transpired.

Trickster grinned. His eyes twinkled with a self congratulatory mirth. "Oh lighten up, Bird-man! You know I have the power to change all this. Did you really think your buddy had actually done me in, or scared me off? I saw him coming a mile away!" He laughed heartily. "You angels...you think you've got your finger on the pulse, don't you? There's a whole other dimension outside of your own little turf war. The universe doesn't actually revolve around your battles."

Castiel turned away wearily. "Mine does. -Did." He fell silent, and the Trickster felt a brief pang of remorse. Castiel turned to him, his eyes dull with bitter defeat. "Why..? Why did you do this? Were you bored? Did Lucifer offer you something you couldn't refuse?"

Trickster's smile faded. "I never met your Lucifer. -Seen enough of his influence, though. It's kept me entertained for centuries, pitting mortal men against their own flawed urges. But no, never got any offer from him. You ask me why I do this...well, because it's what I do. Just like you do what you do. I set this in motion to give young Samuel a wake-up call. I have a soft spot for them, call me crazy...and Sam was on a road to ruin a little earlier than scheduled, and he was going to take his brother down with him. Well, then where would I be? I set this up to show him the flaw in his thinking. Would have gone all right too, but all these variables crept in-you, your buddy Uriel, and the other demons. I never intended for it to get this ugly, but it did. And I just wanted to see where it went, and whether you, with all your high ideals and judgements, would step up. I was impressed, by the way, when you did. Made me think that there was a side I should consider supporting. So I guess you can count that one as a favour."

Castiel snorted bitterly. "Little late. You should have supported our side when the brothers were still alive. I don't even know if there's a point anymore."

Trickster laughed. "Oh sure there is. I may not be able to affect you and your particular realm, but time is my bitch down in their world. I can reel it back to wherever I want. Your little playmates will all be back tomorrow, good as new and none the wiser, unfortunately."

Castiel turned to him, forgetting his own hurts, radiating hope. "You can do this...you will do this..?"

"I said I would, didn't I? I'm not here to screw up your day, particularly. I feel bad, though. Not much I can do to reverse what's happened to you."

Castiel closed his eyes and nodded. "I have little left. My brothers will go on; they will have to do so without me."

"Maybe." Trickster got up then, pausing to speak before he left. "Consider them whole again. As for you, take a breather, Castiel. Rest a while here in your happy place...you lose faith too easily." With that, he vanished.

Castiel was too wounded and tired to fully absorb what he'd told him. He sat, thinking it all over, word by word. Finall he rose, and staggered to his feet. He had to see for himself. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he was standing at the place that had born witness to the horror. The early morning breeze brushed his hair back, the sky beginning to glow with a rosy hue on the horizon. Birds had awakened with the dawn, he was surrounded by their tentative singing. He scanned the clearing. It looked pristine...undisturbed. There was no pile of brush, burning. There was no acrid sulphurous smoke. No one lay on the ground, blood-soaked, still and cold. He was alone. When he'd finally seen enough to believe, he fell to his knees and cried.

* * *

"Jesus, watch it!" Sam barked.

Dean snapped out of his bitter reverie, braking hard and swerving, the tires refusing to bite on the slick road. The source of the abrupt reaction was a deer, a young whitetail, which had bolted across the road. It was nearly invisible in the dim light of the rain, it's winter coat a much more anonymous shade than the lovely red tone of summer. The Impala grill hit it squarely, in a shower of metal bits and headlight glass, a solid thump that was unmistakable. The doe skidded sideways for a moment, struggled up to its feet and bolted into the ditch.

In the split second of panic, their anger was forgotten. Dean ground to a halt at the roadside and leapt out. The doe was in the ditch, stunned, winded from hitting the ground. When she saw him approach, she got up solidly to her feet, shook herself, and turned with lightning quickness, levitating soundlessly over the wire fence. Sam joined him, and they stood in silence, watching as she sped away across the field. She stopped at the far edge of the bush, flicking her ears and staring accusingly at them for a moment, as if indignant at the affront, then disappeared like a ghost amongst the trees.

Dean exhaled shakily. "I think she's ok. Lucky little bitch."

"Looks like it."

They turned back to the car and sat in silence for a while, as the shock of the near tragedy wore off. Neither felt like finishing the argument they'd started. Sam was first to offer the olive branch.

"Dean, damn...I didn't really mean that stuff. I was just, I don't know...frustrated, I guess. I took it out on you. I didn't mean that shit back there after the Siren either. I don't know why I said it..."

Dean cleared his throat, squirming in extreme discomfort. "Yeah, uh...same here. I was just pissed at stuff, you know what I mean-"

Sam smiled sheepishly. "Sure. I know. Let's call it even. We'll pound each other's heads in some other time."

"Count on it!" Dean snorted.

They drove on, each absorbed in their own tangled emotions and relief. Sam broke the silence after some time.

"Maybe I'm crabby because I had a lousy sleep last night. I had this brutal dream; it was so clear, I can still recite it play by play."

Dean raised his eyebrows at that admission. "Weird. So did I. God, I woke up in a sweat, after you and me and Bobby were all offed by Ruby-"

Sam turned to him in shock. "Are you serious? That's exactly what I dreamed! Only there was a helluva lot more to it, stuff I don't even want to think about-"

Dean was spooked. He didn't want to discuss it, it was all too fresh. "Gross, Sam. Don't make me hurl. And do me a favour-keep me out of your dream porn from now on!"

Sam reddened. "No! That's not what I meant! God, what an ego... It was more that I...I mean, because of me, you ended up... Ah, nevermind."

Dean was quiet, his expression sober as he remembered his own nightmare. "The whole freaking cast was in mine. Including Cas, that sonofabitch Uriel. Trickster..." He glanced at Sam.

Sam stared back, perturbed and discomfited. "Bobby. David... Ellen.."

"Yeah, they were all there. Ok, what the hell is going on, then? We had the exact same dream? That's a little bizarre!"

"Yeah. Just a little."

Neither wanted to discuss it any further. The dream had put them both through the wringer. The thought that it was a real connection between them now was damned scary. Dean had one final comment on it. "Gotta call Bobby later. If he had the same dream, then there's definitely something freaky going on."

Sam nodded, distracted. Finally he turned to his directions. "Ok, next left. That will put us about twenty minutes out from David's new place. I hope he stocked the fridge, I'm starving."

Dean grunted in agreement, although it wasn't solid refreshment he was craving now. His mind was a tangle, he needed to unwind soon or his head was going to explode. They drove the remaining distance in silence. Dean shifted occasionally in the seat, stiff from all the driving. Sam glanced at him.

"Back sore...?"

"What? No! I'm just a little stiff, that's all. I've been sitting here for hours, I need to stretch my legs; there's nothing wrong with my back!" His quick, terse denial was odd, and it deepened Sam's disquiet. The dream, or whatever it was that they seemed to have shared, must have some meaning. It's brutal events and consequences made him want to rethink a few things. He would ponder it, detail by detail, for a long time.

But for the present, he shook it off. He turned to Dean where he sat scowling in the drivers' seat. The horrible events were still fresh in Sam's mind, and it filled him with relief to see his brother whole, unhurt and relatively normal. He couldn't help but smile at the contrast.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"Nothing. It's... nothing. I'm just tired of the crap from the last while, with us, with everything. I could use a little R&R. I'm looking forward to seeing David. It's been a long time."

Dean nodded. He felt a touch of how they used to be, he and Sam, before all this. Like when they were kids...like brothers. He smiled to himself, feeling it wash over him like a gentle wave, and he felt the tension begin to fade.

* * *

Castiel slumped in exhausted defeat on his bench. The chestnut tree above was blooming, tall spires of snowy florets shed petals on him as he sat. He closed his eyes, feeling them brush lightly against his skin. A small boy pedalled up beside him, pausing on his tricycle and staring at him quizzically. He hardly had the energy to look up.

"You look so tired. Are you sad?" the child asked.

He turned his head wearily. He never met anyone here, it was one of the reasons he so loved this place. He saw the boy. The child had a shining quality, an innocence that radiated from him like a wave of warmth. "Yes." he sighed. "..I am. I had a long day."

The boy frowned. "..But you did a lot of good in your day. Why are you sad?"

Castiel smiled patiently. He wished the child would leave him alone. "I try to do good. But I don't know in the end if it makes any difference. I don't know if I do the right things."

The boy stood, watching him solemnly. Finally he smiled gently. "I think you do the right things. I think you do much more than you think you do. You're tired, because you've given so much of yourself. You should sleep now. When you wake, you will feel good again, ..strong again. I promise."

Castiel laughed a little, the boy's simple, childish logic was appealing. "Well, then I will sleep. I hope it will be so."

The boy got back on his trike. "You'll see, Castiel. Your sacrifices are never in vain. Trust in yourself."

The angel stared at the boy. He'd called him by name... "Who...who are you?"

The child leaned forward, his warm little hand brushing the angel's forehead. He whispered softly as he did so. "Don't lose faith."

Castiel had a brief and astounding moment of understanding. Then he drifted off into peace.

* * *

The reunion with David was exactly what everyone needed. He entertained in the style the present company appreciated-plenty of cold beer, good take-out and light conversation. And he was notoriously bad at both pool and poker; his ineptitude filled Dean's wallet with a much-needed infusion. They all pretended his losses were legitimate. It was one more way he could help the brothers without anyone's pride getting bruised. At the end of a long and relaxed evening, the conversation took a direction that left all of them wondering.

David was fairly loaded. "God, I'm going to be useless tommorrow at work..." he groaned. "Hope nobody needs any transplants or anything. I don't know what the hell I'd be hooking up to what."

Dean snorted. "Yeah, like they'd notice a drop in skill level! I've been under your knife, remember? It's like you wear mittens when you suture; christ, I'm lucky to be alive!"

David threw a cushion at his head, laughing. "Ingrate! Next time you can go to the vet!"

Dean raised a glass with mock solemnity. "Here's to no next time." They all endorsed that whole-heartedly.

David got to his feet, a little on the unsteady side. "Seriously, guys...I have to turn in. I'm a little older than you are...don't have the stamina anymore. Plus I had a shitty sleep last night. I had the weirdest dream."

Sam glanced at Dean. Dean returned his expression of wariness. "So...what was it, then? Or was it too R-rated for young Sammy to hear?"

David snorted. "I wish. No, this was a bona-fide nightmare. I'm embarrassed to tell you, but it was all about you guys. Let me just say that you guys had a rough time. Dean especially. And in the end, you and Bobby were all smoked. Brutal." He shook his head, laughing ruefully. "I was glad when I got your call for directions, at least then I knew it wasn't for real. Sure felt like it was."

The brothers laughed nervously. Dean spoke for them. "Yeah...yeah, that's weird. Anyway, I think we'll turn in too. Figured we'd head out to give Bobby a visit tomorrow. He needs at least occasional contact with people, otherwise he goes feral."

David laughed. "Oh yeah.. I can see that. Any way, g'nite. See you bright and early."

"Yeah..." Dean murmured. "Pleasant dreams."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

In the morning, David was disappointed that they were going to leave already. "C'mon, Dean; you just got here.."

Dean smiled indulgently. "Man, I wish we could stay longer, I really do. You've got a great place here, congratulations, you deserve it. But you know how it is; me and Sam have got to keep on top of shit, and hanging out here with you is too easy and way too hard on my liver. If I stay any longer, I'm just gonna say to hell with it and god-forbid maybe do something for me and me alone. " He sighed. "..and we all know that ain't in the cards right now."

David nodded sadly. He didn't know what to say. Dean's mournful expression spoke volumes; his fate, or path, or destiny; whatever you wanted to call it, was a thorny and dangerous route. David would not allow his own mind to wander down the path of what was to come, he feared for his friend, and he hated everything Dean Winchester had to face alone. The bigger picture of what it meant for him, and for humanity as a whole, was something he steadfastly blocked from his mind. Otherwise it would have been impossible for him to get up each morning and throw himself into restoring the futures for the patients that ended up in his care. "You'll come back though, right? When I get the pool all finished-"

"Count on it. Invite some bikini-wearing nurses and I'm in."

David laughed and promised he would. "Listen, I hate to abandon you, but I'm already late. Go ahead and grab whatever you want for breakfast, I think there's a fair bit of leftover pizza, plenty of coffee, and I think there's some bread somewhere..."

Dean assured him that they would. David cast a glance at him at the doorway. "Dean, You know I'm always here for you guys, right?"

"Sure, man. You never fail us. Wish we could repay you someday."

"No...my contribution, it's nothing. I just hope you find an easier road."

Dean snorted a laugh, but his chest constricted in a spasm of emotion. "You and me both."

David sighed and offered his hand. "I wish...I mean, this is all so bloody hard...I actually find myself darkening the church doors lately; so far they haven't thrown me out... I wish it were all...ugh, well, good luck."

Dean smiled a wan smile. He knew what David was trying to say. "Ditto."

* * *

Sam was still snoring soundly. Dean was too awake now to return to bed. He had too much on his mind, and he decided a hot shower was in order. David's new house had a beautiful guest bath, all granite tile and heavy, tempered glass. He had to laugh, it was hardly the good doc's taste-it must have been chosen by the previous owner. He nabbed a fluffy towel from the rack and adjusted the controls to a good, steaming temp. He gasped a little as he stepped in, the hot water was a bit of a shock, but he quickly got used to the heat. He stayed under for an indulgent length of time, feeling some of his tension wash away. He tried not to think about the whole dream thing. It was ugly, it was complex, and he couldn't help but feel some resentment toward Sam for what had happened in it. He chided himself for it; it wasn't real, he knew that, but still...it sure felt like reality, in all it's dubious glory. He buried the feeling, filing it away as his own stupid problem.

He finally realized that he was becoming a human prune, and maybe it was time to dry off. He did so, standing in front of the huge mirror above the basin. The bathroom walls were nearly all mirror; there was another, equally narcissistically sized one on the opposite wall, it made him slightly self conscious as he stood there. He rubbed his hair with the towel, and when he'd dried it into wayward spikes, he tossed it toward the hamper and caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind. He paused, frowning. He turned , trying to get a better view, but couldn't. He looked back at the reflected image and squinted closely at the small of his back. There was a mark there, only barely visible, the hot water had turned his skin rosy, and it stood out in contrast. It was paler, but still fairly defined, and he ran his hand over it, feeling nothing. But the shape was unmistakable. It was a handprint, exactly the same as the one that scarred his shoulder.

He stood and stared at it. It was fading as his skin cooled, in a moment it would be invisible. But the significance of it was clear, and it came as an unwelcome realization...it meant that this was more than a mere nightmare. Somehow, somewhere, it seemed this thing _had_ played out, every miserable moment of it.

He had to call Bobby. Dean dressed quickly, checked to make sure Sam was still asleep, and then found a quiet place to ring his old friend. Bobby was a growling recipient of the call, after all, it was still damned early.

_"Yeah?_"

"Bobby, it's Dean. Sorry to wake you.."

_"Well too late now! What's up?_"

Dean sighed. "Listen, Sam and me, we came out to visit David at his new place outside Atlanta. And it seems..." He paused, wishing that he could laugh the thing off.

_"Spit it out, I haven't had my coffee yet and my patience is real thin._"

"Bobby, I had a real..uh..nasty dream. Nothing new there, but the weird thing is, Sam had the same one, and so did David. I just wanted to see if maybe-"

Bobby beat him to it._ "Yeah, Dean. I had it. It's the reason I'm so god-damned crabby since the other day...hardly dare to close my eyes."_

Dean was afraid to phrase the next question. "Shit. Bobby, you don't suppose this was something that actually happened...somehow? I mean, with all of us sort of remembering it.."

Bobby thought about it. _"Well, ain't no reason to think so, I mean, there's gotta be some reason for all of us having it, but did it happen? I don't think so. Sure as hell hope not. But nothing else is amiss around here, anyway."_

Dean took a deep breath. "Well, something is here. I take it the dream played out for you the same as for us; Sam and me at the roadside, Lilith, the hospital, and then..."

_"And then death in the Georgia countryside at that bitch Ruby's hands. Yeah, Dean, same story."_

Dean had trouble saying the rest. His heart was racing with remembered terror. "Bobby, Castiel cured me, he healed my back-"

_"Yeah. I remember. It was the only high point of it all."_

"Well, I saw something today. ..Bobby, the mark Cas left on me, on the small of my back; it's there, I have it. The hand shaped burn..."

"_..What?"_

"Yeah. I saw it after my shower; just a ghost of the mark. But it's there, Bobby...and I don't know what the hell to think."

There was silence at the other end. Then a hearty curse. _"When can you get down here? I think we better all go over this."_

Dean was relieved to hear that. "We're hitting the road this morning. Sam's still snoring, but I'll kick his ass out of bed in a minute. After that, you know the distance."

_"Good._" Bobby paused._ "You ok, Dean? It was a rough ride, that story. You feel anything residual? How are you doing..?"_

"Nothing physical. Tired, like you. There's no reason other than that mark, and the shared dream, that'd say anything was wrong here."

_"Well, that's a blessing, considering. Did you talk to Sam about it?"_

"No. Only to say that we both had it. I can't even think about bringing this up with him, not now. It's just too freaky, and..."

_"And you might flatten him because of what happened.."_

Dean sighed miserably. "Yeah. I'm trying real hard not to be pissed about it all, but it's hard. He was pretty much the centre of it all."

Bobby tried to level him. _"Well, hold off on the pummeling for now, ok? At least 'til we talk about this and find out what the hell went on."_

"Yeah. I hear you. Look, I gotta go, I can hear him, he's up now. I'll talk to you more when I see you."

_"Alright. See you then."_

Dean put the phone away. He needed a coffee himself, but his guts were so tightly tied in knots he was sure it would bounce right back out again. He hollered impatiently to Sam to hurry up and get ready to leave. The younger man's muffled response was hardly an assurance of compliance, but Dean took it so. He collected his things and went out to the car. The sight of her brought him a moment of relief. He hauled the sqeaking door open and sat in the Impala, wiping the road dust from the dash and gauges, trying to gain some perspective, trying to push the whole thing away for a while. It almost worked, but when Sam emerged from the front door, disheveled and carrying his things, Dean had to bite back his sudden feeling of angry hurt. It was going to be a long drive.

* * *

Bobby sat in the darkness of his study. It was still early, he paid no attention to the rays of morning sun that illuminated the dust particles that rose and floated lazily with every breath and motion.

_-enough._ Enough already. He hardly had a chance to debrief after interceding between them after the damned siren, and now this. And just what in god's name was this anyway? He had no idea. An hour ago, he was perfectly happy chalking it up to a simple nightmare, born out of stress and circumstance. But Dean's revelation about the shared nature of it, and about his mark, added a new dimension to it all, a frightening reality that needed explanation at the very least. He sighed and got up. Rumsfeld whined, unaccustomed to being alert so early, but wanting breakfast nonetheless.

"What do you want..?" Bobby demanded, not unkindly. Rumsfeld nosed his knee insistently. The dog was accustomed to having the dregs left in Bobby's coffee mug, he was as addicted by now as the man himself. "Yeah, yeah..." Bobby sighed. "You'll have to wait, just like the rest of us." He set it up, and sat in tired impatience while it brewed. The dog was encouraged at the end of his slippered foot to go outside for his ablutions.

He was restless. The Winchester boys were on their way. He had to be sharp when they got here; he had to be their voice of reason, their font of wisdom. He felt entirely inadequate in that regard, at least lately. Dean was walking a tightrope, and Bobby had no idea what was holding up the other end. And as for Sam, well, they pretty much knew who or what had a grip on it. The real question was; what was the purpose, and who's neck was it wrapped around in the process?

He poured himself a cup of oily black comfort when it was ready. Taking pity on his fellow addict, he trickled out a smaller amount onto the kitchen floor, which was inhaled with a junkie's urgency by Rumsfeld. After a period of quiet contemplation, Bobby asked his lolling companion for advice. "So, dog. What do I do now..? How do I keep those boys from falling into the abyss, and pounding each other's heads in on the way down...?"

Rumsfeld wagged his tail slightly, and cocked his head quizzically. He was no help whatsoever.

* * *

After hours of curt, one syllable answers, Sam had enough. "Dean, look; what is your problem this morning? You know, it's early for me too, but you don't see me getting all bitchy about it!"

Dean glared at him. "Bitchy. Nice. I'm tired, Sam. I'm just tired, ok? You think you could just shut up for a while and cut me some slack? All I've heard for the last two hours is blah blah blah Sammy. The whole freaking world doesn't revolve around you, you know!"

Sam was taken aback. "I never said it did... I was just talking. And it wasn't all about me either!" He retreated in wounded silence at the unfounded attack.

Dean shook his head in irritation, but regretted his harshness. "Sam, just give me some time to think, will you? I didn't mean to say you were an annoyance. I just have a wicked headache after last night, and I need to just drive, and not think about anything."

Sam was slightly mollified. He recognized the symptoms in his brother. He was always irritable and quick to anger when the world weighed heavily on his mind. Sam also knew there was wisdom in letting him stew, because the alternative could earn him a shiner. He tried a different tact.

"David looked happy. Nice place he bought. Did he say anything to you about whether Ellen was going to move up..?"

Dean took the bait. It was easier to discuss David's foibles than his own. "I don't know. He said she's seen it, and liked it. But he doesn't know what keeps her where she is. There's nothing left really, with the bar gone, and Jo living away. But he can't pry her loose from that shit-hole. It's like she needs to stay there, out of loyalty to her past, and the people in it. David's got a huge problem, trying to battle her dead husband's ghost. Personally, I think she's nuts. Bill is dead, the bar is ashes. Nothing will change that, not being a freaking martyr to your memories. If she doesn't let go of that crap from the past, she'll lose her future."

Sam was surprised at the depth of Dean's observations. It was a particularly intuitive insight into the problem, especially from one who was so deeply entwined with his own past. "Hmm. Yeah, I hope he can finally pry her loose from all that stuff. It'd be nice to see somebody rise above the manure pile and find some happiness."

Dean amen'd that sentiment. The rain was starting to come down in earnest, and the wipers were flying to keep up. Their constant squeak and thump paced their thoughts. Both brothers were trying desperately not to think about the dream, but it crept in anyway. It was so vivid, unlike any other mere nightmare. The details remained fresh, crystal-clear, refusing to be weakened and muddled by time and distance. Every second of the experience seemed to be burned into their minds, refusing to be diluted or softened by wakefulness. Dean tried to block it out, turning on the radio in a desperate attempt at diversion. They had bigger fish to fry; real things to deal with. He didn't want to resent Sam for dreamed transgressions, that was stupid. He didn't want feel this hollow, painful feeling in his centre, the need to blame. But the dream persisted in occupying his thoughts. He wanted it to remain in the realm of imagination, a place that was a fertile bed of ideas and events, but one that had no connection to the living world. And it would have been so, except for the damned mark..

Sam noticed again his reticence at keeping up the conversation. There was clearly a heavy weight there. He pushed his luck. "Ok, what's on your mind, Dean? You can't seem to string a few words together to talk to me. It's the dream, isn't it? How about you spill it now...?"

Dean's mouth tightened. He didn't want to get into it now, there were too many questions, too many reasons to... "I told you before, Sam. I'm fine. I'm just tired. It's a freaking long drive, just give me some space."

"Well I can drive. If you're this tired, maybe we should switch-"

"I said I'm fine!" Dean barked. He swore under his breath. Why the hell did Bobby have to live so damned far from virtually everything? He hated being in the confines of the car with his brother now. All he wanted was some distance, but he wanted answers more, and Bobby was always able to add an element of clarity to things.

Sam persisted. "No you're not. You're grinding your teeth, I can see it. For christ's sake, talk to me! I'm involved in this thing too; between us we can-"

"Oh yeah, you're involved! " Dean shouted. He gripped the wheel hard, trying to keep from striking him. "Involved isn't the word for it, it's more like the god damned cause of it, isn't it-?"

Sam recoiled. "Now wait a minute! This is not freaking reality! You can't blame me for things that only happened in your mind, Dean! It's not fair-!"

Dean snorted. "I wish it was only a dream. But no, Sammy, something did happen. This isn't just fantasy."

"Why? Because we all shared the same dream? Weirder things have happened, it doesn't mean that-"

"No. Not because we had the same dream. It's because I have the mark. I have it, Sam, on my back, the burn from Castiel's cure. A real mark from a dream cure of a nightmare injury. Explain that to me, why don't you-?"

Sam was struck dumb. Finally he found his voice. "Are you...are you sure..? Is it still there?"

Dean was too upset now to answer. He turned away and concentrated on the road.

Sam tried to absorb that. He felt nauseous. The thought that this had a place somewhere in reality made him feel faint. They drove in bitter silence for some time. Finally Sam couldn't contain it. "No way. Dean, I don't know what the hell is going on, but I swear; I would never hurt you deliberately! You have to know that!"

Dean didn't answer. His face was set in stone. He remembered the moment where he was falling at the roadside, he remembered begging Sam to stop. He remembered the agony, coughing on his own blood while Sam stood there and.. His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles white with strain. It wasn't even the injury to his back; that was horrible, sure, but Lilith was ultimately responsible. But the idea that Sam had unleashed the damned demon shit on him first...

"Listen to me, dammit!" Sam shouted.

"No! Just shut up, for christ's sakes! I don't want to listen to you, alright? I don't know what happened, I don't know what's real and what isn't! All I know is this feels real, and I know it does for you! I'd be happy chalking this up to coincidence, believe me! But the truth is, the mark is on me! I don't know what to think right now, but I do know that you betrayed me! Somehow, somewhere, you chose the demon shit over me. So stop talking, for god's sake. I feel like pounding you right now, and I promised Bobby I wouldn't. So if you really do care, just shut the f~~k up and let me drive. When we get to Bobby's, we'll crack this thing wide open and figure it out. But til then, I don't wanna hear another damned thing about it-!"

After a moment of shocked silence, Sam agreed.

* * *

They had completed over a third of the eighteen hour drive. It had been tense, and endless. Sam had no defense to the news that Dean still wore the mark. It seemed to indicate that there was much more to this than mere REM driven fantasy. Coupled with the shared nature of the tale, it was fairly damning evidence that this had played out somehow. But Sam wasn't willing to accept culpability for it all, not yet. Dean may have claim to evidence that this was something more, but Sam had nothing other than the knowledge that others had experienced the same dream. He stayed quiet, for a long while, examining every detail of it all. He glanced at Dean from time to time, watching his expression, analysing his mood. He wanted desperately to bring it up, to defend himself, since it was obvious that he was being condemned for what had happened. He really didn't think it was right, he couldn't believe that it could have played out the way it seemed to. They had no idea yet of the nature of this thing, and yet he felt he was in the unenviable position of having to explain himself, to answer to charges for sins that he most likely had never even committed. It wasn't fair. It really wasn't. It wasn't reasonable.

"Want to switch yet?" he began.

Dean grunted a negative.

"Well, how about stopping for something to eat at least? I'm dying of thirst, for starters.."

Dean nodded curtly. He could use a break, even if he was loathe to admit it. "Fine. Sing out at the next coffee dive you want to stop at."

When one did loom ahead, Sam pointed it out and Dean pulled over. They got out and stretched, groaning in unison after the hours spent cramped in the seats. They entered the shabby little coffee shop and found a booth. Dean slid into the sticky vinyl seat. Sam made his way to the bathroom, hoping it wasn't too much of a health hazard. The few patrons that shared the space minded their own business, no one looked up or smiled. A waitress finally came over, sullen and not very welcoming. Dean didn't care, it matched his mood.

"Two coffees, black. And a piece of whatever pie you have."

"We don't have any. We got donuts. What kind do you want?"

He sighed with irritation. "I don't care. Surprise me."

She left, and he sat glumly appreciating the few moments he had to himself. He wondered what was taking Sam so long, but he didn't want to think about it too much.

Sam used the facilities, and tried not to touch anything. He washed his hands, and when he looked up at his reflection in the cloudy, fly-specked mirror, he was shocked to see he wasn't alone.

"Ruby-!"

She smiled warmly. "Hey, Sam. You're a hard man to get alone, I've wanted to see you for days, but you never stray from the herd."

Sam wasn't sure how to react. He was instinctively fearful after the dream, but in reality, as far as he knew nothing had happened between them to justify it. He stammered a greeting.

Ruby sidled up to him, stroking his arm. "I missed you. Oh man, I want to find somewhere to sneak away with you, you're making me crazy.." she breathed in his ear.

"Ruby, I.."

She pulled back and grew serious. "Ssh. I know what you're going to say. The dream. Yes, I had it too, Sam. And it was awful. And so real, I had to see you, you have to know it didn't really happen."

He stepped back, eyeing her with mixed feelings. "Something did happen. I don't know what, but it did. Dean and me; we have to figure this out, Ruby. I don't know if I should trust you now."

Ruby's expression became convincingly mournful. "Oh, Sam...no, please; you can't believe I would have done any of those things! I want to help you, not hurt you! And we both want Lilith to fail, why would I jeopardize that?"

His head was spinning. Her words made sense, but.. "But why do we all have the same nightmare? And Dean said he has proof-"

"Proof? Really. What proof?"

"He has a mark, left by Castiel, when he fixed his back.."

Her eyes narrowed. "Oh does he. Did you see it, Sam? Are you sure he isn't just saying so to use this as a wedge between us?"

Sam frowned, and swore to himself. "Jesus, Ruby, right now I don't know what to think. But it's all too fresh and real, I don't think I should be talking to you until I know more. Dean is really upset, and I feel like some low-life traitor right now. By now he's wondering what the hell I'm doing in here.."

She had to pull back. "I understand. But Sam, remember, please, please remember; I would never hurt you. This wasn't real, no matter what anyone tells you, ok?" She kissed him softly and disappeared. He was left standing in miserable confusion, wishing she was right, wishing he hadn't been responsible for these things. It was so much easier to believe... He splashed his face with water, dried off and rejoined Dean.

Dean looked up with annoyance. "What the hell took you so long?"

"Uh..nothing. Just cleaning up.." he mumbled. He saw the coffee Dean had ordered for him, and he picked it up and sipped at it. It was luke-warm now, and it had lost it's debatable merit. "Are you going to order any food?"

"I had a styrofoam donut already, while you were fixing your makeup. Go ahead and order if you want something. I'm going to the can."

Based on the coffee, Sam decided he'd rather wait until something more appealing came around. He drummed his fingers on the greasy table. He was still in shock that he'd seen her. But what she had said made sense. How could this have been anything but imaginary? Nothing seemed out of place now, nothing proved it. Dean said he had a mark, a link between dream and reality, but Sam hadn't seen it. And Dean did hate Ruby, if he could use this to discourage Sam from working with her, he just might... And he just could not believe that he had been the cause of all the terrible things that Dean had experienced. No, he would never have done that..

Dean returned with a look of disgust. "Good choice Sammy. Maybe next time I pick the place, ok?" He dropped an appropriate amount of money onto the table, brushed past Sam and headed out into the parking lot. Sam got up and joined him outside.

"God-" Dean lamented grumpily. "Bobby has to live way out in BF nowhere. I wish we could have at least met half way."

Sam was conflicted and irritable after his tete-a-tete. "I don't really see why we have to do this at all. It's a waste of gas, and time."

Dean stopped walking and he glared at him. "Are you nuts? Or just in some kind of denial-? Bobby is as involved in this as you and me, Sam. And I'd say we need another perspective right now, 'cuz from my angle, you don't come out so good!"

Sam wasn't going to take it this time. "It Was A DREAM! You seem to have a lot of trouble separating reality from fantasy, Dean! Quit busting my chops over something that only happened in your head! Jesus!" He turned and stalked away toward the car.

Dean caught up and grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around. "You know damned well there's more to this! I mean, I understand that you don't want it to be anything real, after what you did to me, but you can't just wish this away so you feel better-!"

Sam pushed him away. "Well I don't have any proof that this was anything other than a bad night-time trip! Why don't you show me, Dean? Let's see this mark of yours-!"

Dean shoved him back, hard. "What the hell's wrong with you? I'm not going to argue with you about what this really was or not, and I'm not undressing for you in some parking lot to prove what I know is the truth. So why don't you just shut your yap until we get to Bobby's!" He turned away, yanking the car door open in a fury.

Sam stood where he was. "Show me, Dean. Prove it."

"Go to hell!"

Sam lunged at him, grabbing his shirtfront and pulling him away from the door. He hiked up the clothing at Dean's back, and he saw nothing. No mark was visible, and he let go roughly.

Dean reacted with typical swiftness, he growled and hauled his fist back, punching him in the jaw. "Get the hell away from me, you freak!"

Sam shook it off and struck him back, leaving his brother staggering for a second. Enraged now, and his nose bloodied, Dean threw himself at Sam and the two hit the gravel hard. A few of the bored patrons of the restaurant filed out to see the spectacle, happy for some diversion. The brothers were unaware of the crowd, busy as they were in rolling around in the dust, each trying to gain advantage. They growled and swore at each other, each landing several more blows before they were pulled apart. Panting and spitting blood from a split lip, Dean looked up angrily to see who had the gall to interfere. Two state troopers stood with arms crossed, annoyed that their meager coffee break had been interrupted. Sam sat a few feet away, wiping his nose on his sleeve.

"You boys want to tell me what this is about?" The older policeman demanded.

Dean rose carefully. "It's nothing, Sir. Really...just me and my brother here, having a little discussion."

"Your brother, huh? Is that true-?" he asked Sam.

Sam nodded.

"Well you've got a real nice way of speaking to each other. You oughta be ashamed, that ain't how family acts. Are you boys done here, or do I have to take you somewhere in the squad car..?"

Dean hastened to reply. "No sir. We're done. I guess we both made our point, we'll just get out of your way now." He reached a hand out to Sam, and the younger man grasped it. In doing so, Sam caught a glimpse of Dean's back from where he sat. Dean's clothing was disheveled, his exposed back reddened from their wrestling in the gravel. With the exception of one clearly defined spot. Sam stared at him in shock for a second as Dean hauled him up.

The trooper admonished them. "Behave yourselves now, boys. I don't want to hear any more about you later on my radio, you hear?"

"Yes sir." Dean said, wisely playing up his obedience. He dusted himself off and got into the car. Sam did so, opening the door like an automaton and still wearing a stunned expression. Dean put it into gear and curbed his urge to floor it out of there, choosing to drive carefully while he still felt the eyes of the troopers boring into the back of his head. In a moment, the law and the coffee shop were out of view. Dean released a nervous breath. "Christ, that was close." he muttered. He turned to glance at Sam.

Sam stared at him, stricken.

"What now?" Dean demanded.

Sam said nothing. After a moment he dropped his head and covered his eyes. He began to cry, which shocked Dean and made him intensely uncomfortable.

"I'm so sorry, Dean...I'm so sorry.." Sam wept.

Dean didn't know what to make of it. "Hey, relax; it was just a dust-up, Sam; not the first or the last."

But Sam would not be consoled. Finally Dean swore under his breath and pulled over. He was still angry, but he turned to his brother and shook him gently. "Hey, c'mon, Sam. We're both under a lot of stress, this would have happened sooner or later. It's nothing."

Sam couldn't stop. The weight that was crushing him for so long had suddenly tripled, and he couldn't deal with it anymore. He had so wanted to believe it had never happened. And Ruby, showing up so unexpectedly; she'd almost had him convinced. He'd believed her enough to start this fight, despite everything they'd experienced. She'd spoken sweetly, cajoled him, and he'd been ready, no, _eager_, to accept her version of events because it was so much easier.

But he'd seen it. The white, hand shaped mark, momentarily defined on his brother's back, thanks to their tussle. He'd practically called him a liar over his refusal to reveal it, yet there it was. Definitive proof that he, Sam Winchester, was a monstrous traitor.

Dean sat in silence, staring at nothing through the windshield as Sam sobbed beside him. It was affecting him deeply, seeing his brother's big frame shaking with his tears. His stomach knotted and squirmed with acute discomfort, his own eyes prickling with moisture. He wanted to flee the car, but he stayed with Sam and let him work through it. Finally Sam found his voice. He told Dean, then, about his encounter at the coffee shop. He told how she'd nearly convinced him again that this was all fantasy, that Dean had no proof of anything. He'd been ready to side with her...again. He explained why he'd acted so aggressively. He was a drowning man grasping at anything to stay afloat, a guilty man begging for a reason to believe his own denials.

At the end of his confession, Dean simply nodded. He gripped the wheel, a maelstrom of thoughts and emotions crowding his brain._ Ruby. Sam_. This whole god-damned phantom event... The fight had been cathartic; his immediate anger was spent. But this new revelation of Sam's made him that much more determined to get to the bottom of all of it, and he needed Bobby for that.

"You ok now?" he asked finally.

"How can you even look at me?" Sam said quietly.

Dean snorted. "No harder now than any other time. You're not exactly eye-candy."

Sam smiled slightly at the dig. "Dean, I'm really-"

Dean cut him short. "Yeah, I know. Now shut up already, you soggy bitch. And just so there's no confusion in future, I won that fight."

In his current state, Sam had to agree. Dean insisted that the subject was off limits for the duration remaining. He had so many questions, and his own emotions were tied in so tightly, that he reasoned that it was best to let it all rest until they had a third party present. The drive was passed quietly after that. Sam was drained by his emotional outpouring, and Dean was in a mood to ignore anything heavy for the time being. Sam slept for quite a while. Dean nursed his lip, and felt his right eye swelling somewhat._ -A bag of frozen peas would be handy right about now-_ He glanced at his slumbering companion, noting that he sported the mirror image of his own shiner. Sam had cleaned up his bloody nose; Dean knew he hadn't hit him hard enough to break anything. His knuckles hurt though._ -Bone head._ Bone head fit on a few levels. He was amazed and disgusted that that bitch Ruby had accosted him in the can, and more so that his gullible brother had listened to her. Not that it wasn't understandable. Sam had confessed that he'd been desperate to prove his innocence of it all. Hell, Dean thought...who wouldn't. It was alot easier to try to pursue your dubious innocence than face your guilt.

He drove on deep in thought, barely aware of the passing terrain. The whole thing was so damned sharp and real, but at the same time, it was all nebulous; refusing to be pinned down. Even the damned mark was invisible but for a few unique moments when circumstances made it show. It was an unwelcome complication; he'd have been happy to file the whole thing away as some dream sequence that they had shared for some purpose that remained to be seen. They could have all sat around, drinking and debating the reason for it all, relieved that it wasn't reality. But the handprint made that impossible; it brought the dream into the present, and they no longer had the luxury of waxing philosophical about it. Now the discussion would have an urgency to it, and he was dreading the idea of re-living it all through their examinations. It sucked. It sucked on so many levels... It was a life-altering misery of an experience, and he prayed fervently that some other explanation would fit, because he remembered the fear and agony of learning he was chair-bound for the rest of his lousy life. He remembered how it felt when he was told the prognosis. It was so hard, so terrifying. But worse was the incident at the roadside. He couldn't even let his mind go there now, the feelings of bitterness and betrayal threatened to well up and choke him. Thinking of it now made him want to curl up somewhere safe where he could never again face harm. But the irony of that made him snort loudly. Fat chance. Harm and he were always destined to cross paths...now more than ever. But he'd always approached his risks with a feeling of some invincibility; he often didn't come out unscathed, but ultimately he always walked away, and nothing ever changed his course in the end. But in the damned dream, that streak came to a crashing end, and it tore away any sense of security he had left these days. Fate had his number, he was fairly sure of it. But never before had he thought it could be embodied in his own brother. He sighed unhappily. Sam had asked him recently how he thought it would all end. Bloody, he'd said. But even then, it didn't have the sharp clarity that it seemed to have now. It was a little more abstract then. Now, it felt...inevitable. And time was ticking loudly.

He pulled over when hunger forced him to. The stale offering at the coffeeshop did nothing to sustain him, and he knew Sam was starving hours ago. He found a chicken joint, thankfully one of a large chain, which should be safely consistent. He parked the Impala, sighed with weariness, and stretched. He shook Sam awake. "Dinner, Sasquatch. Real food this time."

Sam looked around, bleary and wincing when he rubbed his puffy eye. "Where are we..?"

"The Colonel's best. We're still a few hours away from Bobby's. I couldn't go another mile without something to eat. Get your arse out of the car, I'm going in to order." He left Sam to follow, and he disappeared into the building. Sam stretched and examined his reflection in the mirror. He welcomed the image, with its purple shading forming nicely around his eye. At least Dean had gotten in a decent shot or two. Knowing he'd had that opportunity to expend some anger about it all assuaged Sam's guilt a little. He was a little wary of Dean's current, forgiving mode. He hardly felt he deserved that, considering, but his shiner gave Dean's acceptance of things for the moment a quality of sincerity. It rang true, and he need that. He could deal with his brother being pissed, but he needed to believe Dean didn't hate him for it all. He finally trudged after him. That chicken smelled damned good.

* * *

Castiel awoke on his bench. He sat up, and a shower of confetti-like petals fell from his coat. It took him several moments to remember what had brought him here, and he wondered, as he stared at the snowy drifts of spent petals at his feet, just how long he'd been asleep. As his senses returned, he remembered. The child. His heart leapt. Anna was right. God had never abandoned him. And when he was at his lowest point, ready to expire after events that tested his resolve and strength and faith, the child had come. He smiled, and tears sprang to his eyes. The form that his Lord had taken was perfect. Of course it was perfect. The boy was simple purity, devoid of complication and doubt, filled with a shining sincerity, and a well of goodness that Castiel had, in the past days, begun to despair was lost. He rose from his seat, standing and gazing around him. He realized there was more. He had lain down, too weary and battered to continue. He'd been ready to give up, he was so depleted in his mind and body. It was different now. He flexed his hands, marveling at how he felt. It was just as the boy had promised. He was strong again. Whole. He turned his face to the sun, soaking in its warmth. It felt as if it shone right down to his very soul. He opened his eyes again at the sighing breeze, and watched the petals drift lightly along the grass. They caught and tumbled over the tips, forming shapes, patterns, then drifting further. He cocked his head slightly, as the patterns began to blend and join. They seemed to mean something, it was more than random shapes. As he stared, he realized it was a message. It was fleeting, and it drifted back into organic patterns as quickly as it had formed. But he'd seen it, and never had he received a clearer message since he'd been given his important task._ Go to them_, it said.

His moment of peace evaporated, but it had been enough. Renewed, he was ready to throw himself into the turmoil again.

* * *

Neither brother had the means to solve this, they needed an impartial and educated third party, and Bobby Singer fit the bill. In the meantime, they mowed through their bucket of chicken like hungry wolves, neither speaking of anything other than how good it was. When there was nothing but grease spotted cardboard and clean-picked bones left, Dean collected the refuse and left to discard it. When he returned, he opened the passenger side door.

"Your turn, Sam. You drooled and snored for the last two hours, and I'm fried. If I don't close my eyes for a while I'll start hallucinating."

"One's already nearly closed there, Dean. You're halfway there." Sam dared to tease.

"Funny." Dean grunted. "Check out a mirror, Raccoon-boy. You look alot worse than I do." He settled in to a comfortable position for a car-snooze as Sam went around to the driver's side, and they were hardly on the highway for half an hour before Dean had succumbed to his exhaustion. As the remaining miles flew by, Sam glanced at him occasionally, when he made a noise, or shifted, frowning in his sleep. Just normal, run-of-the-mill nightmares this time. He never thought he'd consider that a blessing. They finally pulled in to the compound of wrecks, and he sighed with relief. He parked, and gently shook Dean awake.

* * *

Bobby met them in the yard.

"Hey, Bobby." Sam greeted him.

Dean nodded to him, still waking up, and feeling irritable from the long hours in the Impala.

Bobby looked them over by the stark, yellow illumination of the yard light. He crossed his arms and scowled when he caught sight of the evidence of their scuffle. He stared from one to the other while they looked away sheepishly. "Anything I need to know about..?"

"Nah..." Dean answered. "Sam just tripped and hit himself on my knuckles."

"Is that right. What about you?"

"Me? Beer cap. Just flew right off and hit me in the eye." he smirked.

Bobby snorted. "Well, at least now you look like you're related." He turned and the brothers followed him in to his dusty castle.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

Bobby handed each a beer, and they toasted in silence. None of them divulged just what they were honouring, but the sentiment was fervent. "So, how was the drive?" Bobby asked.

"Long. Seriously, Bobby, what the hell are you doing way out here? Ever thought of at least going south a little?" Dean complained.

Bobby shrugged. "What am I gonna do, move to Sally's place in Florida and take up surfing? I like it here...suits my mood."

Dean understood. Home was home, there was no logic. The brothers dropped onto the couches while Bobby went to the kitchen to find some serving bowls and chips. Rumsfeld nosed Sam, demanding his requisite scratch, and Sam obliged. The dog always came to Sam first, it was more wary of Dean. Bobby returned, and switched off the television. The dog became animated at the array of snacks he set onto the table, finally encouraged to leave with a sharp word from Bobby.

Bobby settled into his favourite chair, nursing his beer. "So. Dean. Sam. What do you make of all this shit..?"

"Right to point, eh Bobby? Christ, I'm still half asleep from the damned endless drive to Hooterville."

Bobby frowned. "Sorry, Dean. I just don't think we have the luxury of wasting time right now, all things considered. And I know you; you didn't drive all the way out here to discuss the weather. So I guess we oughta start by comparing versions. Any takers?"

Dean sighed. -_Might as well get it over with-_ "Ok, I'll start." He described his dream in painful detail, pausing only to refill his empty hand as needed.

When he was done, Bobby stroked his beard and was silent for a while. "Mine is the same. It don't go quite as far as yours; seems I was voted off the island first, before you two. How 'bout you, Sam?"

Sam answered in a quiet, strained voice. "The same. Every awful, crystal-clear detail, Bobby. Mine ended right around where Dean's did."

Bobby tossed another cheese stick to the dog. "Well, we're all on the same page then. Anybody have anything new to add?"

Dean sighed unhappily. "Just the fact that the damned mark is on me. I'd show you, Bobby, but it's invisible unless I get flushed, or scraped in some way. There's nothing raised, nothing to say it's there. I only saw it after a hot shower. But later, Sam saw it too."

Bobby nodded. "So we have our connection to the here and now. Proof it ain't just a dream, although it don't clear up anything else. You got anything to add, Sam?"

Sam caught Dean's eye. He cleared his throat and described the earlier encounter. "Yeah. Ruby showed up, on the way here. She talked to me; said she'd had the dream too, and told me to remember it wasn't real. She was pretty pursuasive, she really wanted me to ignore what I saw, to believe it was just a bad trip. It was like nothing had happened, Bobby; I didn't know what the hell to think, or do. I mean, we all know what went down in the dream, but out here in the real world, she's done nothing but what she promised; just guide me, and.."

"And screw your blind, stupid brains out." Dean added harshly.

Stung by that, Sam looked away.

Bobby sat back and thought for a moment. "Sam, what was your gut feeling...was she really on the level, or do you think she's trying desperately to defuse this?" He watched the younger brother closely while he sought his answer.

Sam stared at the carpet for some time before answering. "Bobby, I'm not really objective. Dean told me about the mark, but when she came to me in the can, she pointed out that I hadn't actually seen it, and maybe it was just more of the same, with Dean trying to keep me away from her."

Dean snapped to attention. "Excuse me? What do you mean more of the same? I don't have to make shit up to support my view, Sam! Reality offers enough evidence!"

Sam sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm just telling the thing. Would you please just let me do that?"

Dean glowered. Bobby encouraged him to continue.

"Anyway, before we got into it in the parking lot, she pretty much had me convinced that this was all just some psychedelic thing. I wanted to believe that; I needed to. But when I saw the mark on Dean's back, after we were rolling around in the gravel, I snapped out of it. Bobby, Ruby wants desperately to have me believe it never happened, and that she never did what she did. I can picture why."

Bobby nodded. "Yeah, she did a pretty brutal job of finishing us all off. Boys: nothing ever seems to happen to us that's just plain random, at least lately. I'm inclined to think there's more to this story. I just don't buy the idea that we shared a simple dream. It don't make any sense."

Dean had grown quiet. His expression was closed and angry. Finally he spoke. "So what we're all saying here, is that this isn't some dream, that this maybe really happened."

"Well it's a possibility. I don't know how else to explain it, Dean. I can't begin to guess the why behind it all, but I'll tell you one thing; we all saw Trickster in it. He's the only one unaccounted for in the end. This sort of twisty head game is just up his alley, I'd bet my hat on him being somehow involved here."

Dean sat in silence for a while. They all had difficulty absorbing it; it was so brutal and real in mere memory; to think that it had somehow happened in real time was a very ugly idea.

Sam shook his head, wanting to deny it, but knowing he couldn't. "You think Trickster is involved, and not just in the way we saw, but now, even as we're here talking about it." he summed up quietly. He didn't know what to do with that, whether it worsened or bettered it all.

* * *

The chuckling that greeted that statement caused all three to whip around to the source. The figure responsible for the mirth sat in the easy chair at the other end of the room. He rose and walked toward them, wearing a cheshire cat grin. Dean rose as well, tense and ready to do him some serious harm if he had the chance. "You callous sonofabitch!" Dean growled.

Trickster ignored him and kept smiling. He pulled up another chair and joined the group. Scanning from one to the next, his gaze settled on Bobby, and he began to clap slowly. "Well Allelujah! The junk-man out-thinks the genius brothers and wins the ribbon! Took you long enough!"

Bobby sat in open-mouthed shock. Dean still stood, ready to spring. Sam stared from the demi-god to Bobby and back, struck dumb. Trickster turned to Dean. "Sit down, Einstein. You can hear me out, or not, I don't really care. But if you want to know a couple of the whats and whys here, then grab a chair and shut up."

Dean turned to Bobby, and Bobby nodded warily.

Trickster smiled broadly and reiterated the whole series of events, in lengthy and painful detail. He ended his explanation with the assurance that it had indeed been part of their reality, but in the end, he'd returned things to the starting point as he'd promised. When he was finished, he grinned from one to another, as if they should break out into enthusiastic applause over his cleverness. They didn't.

Dean swore and stood up. "Beautiful!" he growled. He stalked to the kitchen, and poured himself a stiff drink. Sam and Bobby glanced at each other.

Finally Sam asked, "Why..? Why did you do this to us?"

"You needed a wake up call as to what you have in you. I don't know whether it's a bad or good thing, Sam; it's not my sandbox. What I did know is that your overconfidence, your arrogance about it, was leading you down a road to ruin ahead of schedule. And it was right up my alley to show you the error of your ways. Oh, and plus it was a helluva lot of fun."

As Trickster's descriptions began to sink in, Sam realized something. The being had altered his abilities at the roadside. Ruby was right; he never had the strength to do what he'd done to Dean in the "dream". It meant he hadn't hurt him through his own means, it meant absolution-

"Do you have even a clue as to what you put us through? Your interference brought those demons down on all of us!" Bobby stammered, incredulous.

"Yeah, that was a wrinkle I didn't see coming. Sorry 'bout that." Trickster smiled.

"You're sorry!" Dean growled from where he stood. "That's a comfort."

"If you knew it was all going south, why didn't you stop it earlier?" Bobby demanded.

"Why? Well, the game changed. I wanted to learn more about these angels and demons. They're outside my sphere, I figured it was a good idea to get to know their nature. And when I had them figured out, I saw another opportunity to...you know, teach.

"Teach who?" Sam demanded. Dean remained silent, his expression tight with barely suppressed rage.

"Your buddy Cas. Looked to me like he needed a bit of a kick in the ass."

Dean had heard enough. He threw his glass away and launched himself at Trickster, but predictably the being vanished, and he crashed against the bookshelves behind. Bobby leapt up and pulled him to his feet. "Easy! You know we can't beat him, so just settle down!"

Dean shrugged his hand away, letting loose a stream of cursing. They waited in breathless silence, but Trickster seemed to have left for the time being. Dean swore one last streak and returned to the kitchen to find something to smooth his hackles. Sam followed him in.

"Dean, do you know what this means? It's good news, the best!"

Dean downed his whiskey, snarling, "Oh yeah, Sam. It's freaking awesome. I can't tell you how happy I am!"

Sam stepped back in confusion. "No, listen! Don't you get it? It wasn't my fault after all! I couldn't have hurt you with my powers; it only happened because he changed them-"

"So what? Makes no difference."

"No difference? It makes all the difference! Didn't you hear any of that?" Sam cried. "It wasn't me! It was never me, it was Trickster! You're blaming me for things I had no control over! Dean, listen-"

Dean shoved him away. "No! Just shut up, for god's sake! Yeah, so Trickster was there, and fine, he cranked the amps on your power to the point where you could do some real damage. But he didn't make you do it in the first place, Sam! He didn't make you want to!" He turned his back, his eyes blurring with tears of fury and hurt. Sam stood still as the realization began to sink in.

Dean felt like he was suffocating, the emotion so crushingly painful in his breast that it was a fitting reminder of the root of it all. He whirled around. "It was your choice in the first place, _you_ had control. You know it, I know it! We're all real lucky that it ended this way, aren't we? So that means what now, Sam? It means that you actually did say all that shit to me in the car, and it means you really did use your wonderful and amazing 'gift' against me at the roadside. Sure, we're all good now. But I remember every second of it! I remember begging you to stop, and falling to the ground. I remember being driven to point my gun at my own brother. You did that to me, not the Trickster! And you did it with your own free will, didn't you! You sonofabitch! It makes no god-damned difference that he boosted the juice when you turned it on me! He may have traded your twig for a club, but you still chose to bash me with it! "

Sam touched his arm. "Dean, no, please; I don't think-"

"Look, just get away from me!" Dean shoved the hand away. "You did all that to me because you wanted to do it! Nothing that bastard said here tonight will ever change that! And you stand here now, thinking that it's all ok because it ended well, that it didn't mean anything! Well it did, god-damn it! I don't care what trick he used to pull back time or whatever; it still happened to me, I still suffered because of you!"

He was working himself up into a state, and Sam knew he was in danger of being on the receiving end of a fist at any moment. "Dean, listen to me! You're right, I did choose to, but I never, ever envisioned actually hurting you! I just thought I could..I don't know; tap you with it, make you see a little of what I could do, and how it could help us! But when I felt the surge of power, I couldn't stop it! I was terrified as I was doing it, I could see it all, but I couldn't pull it back, it felt like something else was controlling me and I couldn't do anything to snap out of its grip! Yeah, I started it, but I never wanted to harm you like that, I never would!"

Dean snorted and turned away. Sam was quiet for a moment, fighting back tears. "Dean, I know you hate me for it, and I can't change that. But I do know this: yes, you suffered, and it was my fault. But so did I. I never told you how my dream really ended. Mine had the final scene, Dean. You died before I did, and so did Bobby. I was alone at that point, and you can't imagine how horrible and empty that moment of realization was! I mean, for god's sakes, I held you there, staring blind, bloody and dead in my hands!"

"So? What did you expect would happen in the end anyway, since you did your best work trying to make sure of that end in the first place!"

Sam met his eyes, his own welling. "What happened to you was terrible, Dean...I'm not denying it. But there's more to it. Do you even want to know the whole story?"

Dean crossed his arms, his posture closed and angry. "What? You cried? You promised God and Santa Claus that you'd be a good little boy from now on? What could you have possibly done at the end to make up for any of that?"

Sam leveled his gaze at his brother. He spoke quietly. "Yeah. ..Yeah, Dean, I cried. And then I took your gun out of your coat, put it to my head, and blew my brains out. That's what." Sam turned and walked away.

The revelation stunned Dean. For a long moment, he was struck dumb by the ugliness of that image. Finally he swore, and stalked out into the cool night air. He sat in the Impala, his mind twisting into knotted chaos. Sam had done it. He'd turned against him, with predictably dire results. But there was so much more to it, and so much less... He couldn't feel any direct result of the events. There was no physical residual of what happened. And thank god for that, considering. But the more he ran the damned dream sequence over in his mind, the more he felt it in his heart. He was hurt, he felt betrayed, and attacked, and ...what..? A failure. He felt like a damned failure for not being able to see it coming, to stop Sam from turning down that road. He knew he was partly to blame. He had denigrated him, he had assumed a leadership when maybe he should have considered it more a partnership...

He'd put a gun to his head. Because of him. He'd ended his life when Dean's own was over. Christ, if that didn't say loyalty and brotherhood and...love...then what the hell did?

* * *

Sam slumped back down on the couch.

"Sam-" Bobby began.

"He hates me. He hates me, Bobby, and justifiably so. If this happened, then I really did that to him. I remember it all too...just like you do, and he does. I remember hurting him, and I remember wanting to. I remember all of it..."

Bobby was quiet. "Sam, this whole thing; it was damned strange.. But the biggest thing that came through for me is that you do love your brother, and that there are huge and terrible pressures on all of us. Yeah, you did that to him. And yeah, maybe he drove you to it, I dunno... But from what I remember, you tried as hard as you could to fix it; you explored every damned corner, turned over every rock. That's how you ended up in the bad situation; you were trying to fix things. Fate just wasn't on our side that time. We never know what the hell is around that corner, and we sure as hell can't control it. If this was some test, some sort of lesson; then maybe we should just suck it up and learn from it. I ain't gonna instruct you how to interpret any of it; that's up to you. I'll take what I need out of it and thank the lord it ended differently. Maybe you oughta do the same."

Sam looked down glumly. "He's right though. He's not even objecting to what happened. He's upset over why. And I don't blame him, he's bang on. I did choose to turn it on him. Just because it got out of hand through Trickster's efforts doesn't change the fact that I raised my hand against him in the first place."

Bobby sighed. "Ok. Maybe so. But when the two of you showed up here tonight, you both showed shiners that said you each put a hand against his brother. I get that; hell, I did the same with my own brothers from time to time. And when I did, I never once thought that I was going to do any real harm. I never thought I was gonna hurt anybody any more than I was gonna feel myself. I know it was the same with you, regardless of the way it happened. The feelings were the same; the limitations, the parameters. Just a different means."

Sam heard him. He nodded slightly, saying nothing.

Bobby knew how Sam felt. It was a good thing, this obvious guilt and remorse. It was clear evidence that there was more real Sam in the package than anything else. "Look, I'll talk to him. He'll come around, he always does. Just give him a little space for now, unless you want another matching shiner, ok?"

Sam nodded slightly. "Yeah."

Sam sat on the dusty sofa, and left his brother to be by himself out in the car. He fought his urge to go out there, but Bobby's advise was sage, as always; he knew that Dean needed time and space. He wilted there, reliving his participation in the horror that had enveloped his brother. Dean...his mentor, his champion. His protector. He drank steadily, uncharacteristically, trying to lessen the feeling that he'd failed, that he'd been a traitor. Ordinarily, Bobby would have measured out his drinks, but he figured Sam could benefit now from some release. He served him refills without hesitation.

* * *

As Sam melted into drunken introspection, Bobby went out and attended to his other charge. He brought a bottle of his finer stash, and a couple of glasses. He found Dean sitting, listening to some retro rock at a high volume. His cheeks were damp, and Bobby knew why. He opened the passenger door, slid in, and handed one of his glasses over. Dean accepted it without looking up.

Bobby poured for both of them. "So. Now we know. " he said simply.

Dean nodded almost imperceptably. But he accepted the glass.

Both enjoyed the fine liquor in silence. After a time, Bobby began. "Talk to me." he said.

Dean snorted. It was supposed to come across as jaded, and dry, but it was loaded with emotion. "Nothing to talk about, Bobby. We're all ok now, aren't we?"

Bobby sipped at the fine whisky in his glass. "No, Dean. I don't think we are. This whole event was a bloody horror. I'll thank the lord til I'm in the ground that Trickster had the means and will to change the outcome." He held his glass in silence for a time, quietly observing his honorary nephew. When Dean had nothing to add, he continued. "Son...I have some idea how you feel. I know how it feels to have family turn on you, regardless of the cause. When my wife was turned, I did what I had to, with what I knew at the time. But there ain't a day that goes by where I don't have regrets. If I could go back in time, I'd have done things differently. You got that chance. Trickster played a mean little trick on all of us, but mostly on you. But here we are, all of us, hale and sound and in a position to learn from this. We're in the position to forgive. I'm not gonna tell you how to feel, hell, you've earned your anger and more. But I will say this: your brother did everything he could to fix what happened to you. He scoured every book, every manuscript and every lead, trying to find a way to summon that Trickster bastard. In the end, she got her claws in him. He's a ruin of seft-hatred right now. You're the only one who can pull him back out, believe me; my words are only that; just words. It don't matter what I say, there's only one thing that can help him now. He needs your forgiveness, Dean."

Dean heard him out. He fought the tears that welled in his eyes, and he fiddled with the radio knobs to distract himself. He was hurt, angry, wounded. But Bobby's quiet words had a way of piercing his armour, as they always did. Finally he nodded. "Ok." he said quietly. "I hear what you're saying. And I know you're right; I know he feels bad. But Bobby, I'm not sure it's enough anymore."

Bobby Singer stayed silent. His mentorship failed him now; he had no useful advice anymore.

"I mean, christ; the things that happened..." Dean continued. "Bobby, I never signed on for this. I never chose it. All I know how to do is protect my family. Dad drilled that into me. It was the only thing I was supposed devote myself to, the only thing that mattered." He rubbed his eyes roughly, disgusted by his own tears. "..And I can do that, believe me...but not if my own family is fighting me back. How the hell can I do that if Sam is turning on me for it? How do I do what everybody tells me I'm supposed to be doing if he resists my help? He's pulling me under when I'm trying to keep his head out of the water."

Bobby opened his mouth to reply, but the hollow words refused to be voiced.

"And I've even got the Angels of the Lord backing me up, for christ's sake. I should be freaking invincible, I should be able to do this one simple thing without complication!"

Bobby stayed quiet. He knew he didn't have the fix for any of it. He sipped at his drink, musing. Finally he answered. "This...this ain't any simple thing. I wake up every day praying things will be different, but every day, the reality stays as we know it. The fact that you can't solve this overnight ain't your fault. And it ain't Sam's either. I dunno why you Winchester boys were called to this post. Nothing about it feels fair or right to me. But I'm no expert. Life happens, no matter if it's good or bad." He sighed and continued. "Maybe we're looking at it all wrong. Maybe you two aren't really at polar ends of the thing. We assume it'll end as some kind of battle between good and evil, with just one winner. But who said so? And who said that you had to fight against your brother in the end? Castiel has as much clarity about it all as you or I do; he's admitted as much. So maybe we should just try to keep all our heads above water and work together. Sam has a power. We all know what he can do with it, or will be able to, after this thing. But maybe we need to nurture him some, instead of trying to stamp it out cuz we don't understand or trust it. He said it was the reason he turned it on you...not to hurt, but to show. Trickster skewed the end result, and maybe his reasoning is sound. I think Sam is definitely wary of his gift now, and that's good. But maybe you and I should explore it with him, instead of him turning to other sources of encouragement."

"You mean Ruby-"

"Yeah. Her, and anybody else with questionable motives. If it's you and me working with him, then we know that the reasons behind him growing his strength is good. We're the only constant, everybody else has some secret agenda."

Dean rubbed his eyes wearily. "Aw Bobby, it just feels wrong, encouraging him to build that shit inside him. It feels-"

"I know how it feels. But he will turn to outside influences if they offer him a boost when all we offer is condemnation. You gotta see that, Dean."

Dean remained silent. Bobby's heart ached for him. He understood the depth of his feeling of betrayal; it was a lot to overcome.

"Where is he now?" Dean asked finally.

"Drunk and crying himself to sleep on my couch."

Dean smiled a little. He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head against the headrest. After a moment, he turned to Bobby. "Ok. I'll talk to him...in a little while. First, I think I might just take a tour around for a while. I need to clear the squirrells out of my head."

Bobby nodded. He got out of the car, complaining of the late hour and his absence of youth. He closed the door behind him, and returned to Dean's side. Dean rolled down his window.

Bobby smiled a quiet little smile. "Glad you're ok, boy." he said.

Dean amen'd the sentiment. As he watched his older friend, he remembered the gift Bobby had offered, in that other place and time. "Bobby, I know this is kinda weird, now that it's over, but those hand-controls, for the Impala...they were, well they were perfect. Thanks, for thinking that way..."

Bobby nodded. He patted Dean's shoulder. "Don't be gone too long. I don't think your brother, or me for that matter, could take any more worrying over you."

Dean promised, and he drove away, out of the yellow light of the yard, and into the velvet blackness of the night.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Castiel breathed deeply, filled with renewed purpose. After what he'd witnessed and experienced, he was looking forward to finding the brothers healthy and sound. He walked away from his sanctuary, and closed his eyes, envisioning his charges. When he sensed their location, he prepared to join them. -_Go to them_- He'd said. It filled him with a powerful sense of direction, one that had been missing for so long, but it also infused him with dread. Were they in trouble? Was danger near? What would greet him when he arrived..? These worries whirled in his mind, and in his preoccupation, he didn't see the figure who strode angrily toward him.

"Castiel!"

Castiel stopped in his tracks, shocked out of his reverie by the terse voice of Uriel. For a moment, he felt the way he had before all this; before the trickster's choreographies, before Anna's warning, before his meeting with his Lord. He cringed inwardly, intimidated by his powerful fellow angel. "Uriel." he said. "I have an important task-"

"You have nothing until instructed by me!" Uriel barked. "I have received revelation, and we are needed to battle!"

Castiel eyed him with a quiet dispassion. Uriel didn't know what he'd been through. Uriel thought he was still weakened, and prone to his demands. He was wrong. "Go then. Follow your revelation. Go where it tells you, Uriel, although I wonder who's orders you truly follow. I have my own, and they are clear."

Uriel was caught off guard. Castiel had always deferred to him, but today, he was different. "_You_ have revelation? When? When were you given it?" he demanded.

Castiel was sure there was an element of fear in the other's eyes. His heart sank; Anna had been right. "Long ago, Uriel. My task is laid out now as it was then; it hasn't changed. I must protect the brothers. There is nothing else." He pushed past his compatriot, but Uriel grasped his arm.

"This is your own pride, not His will! You are on the verge of being cast out; I've warned you! I am charged with keeping you on the true path. God has told me-"

"God has told you nothing! You stand there, with your belligerent lies, spouting your heresy to me! You've lied all along, and I believed you! God doesn't speak to you! You are not my overseer, and whatever your agenda is, I want no part of it! Keep away from me, or you will regret your miss-steps!"

Uriel blinked. But he was a warrior, and his surprise was only momentary. "It was her, wasn't it? Anna; she filled your head with treasonous ideas, just like her own! Well, you know what her fate is; do you want the same for yourself? You must come with me-"

Castiel whirled and faced him, his eyes flashing with anger. "Whatever Anna's transgressions are, they have no bearing. It is yours that worry me. God has reminded me to stay my course. I don't know why you are trying to make me veer from it, but I no longer trust or follow you, Uriel. Leave me! You stand in my way when I should be fulfilling my sacred duty!"

Uriel shoved him, causing him to tumble back. "Your only duty is to follow me! Don't make me force you!"

Castiel felt a strength that he'd been missing for too long. He stared at him with disgust. "Don't lay a hand on me again, I swear you will regret it!"

Uriel pushed him again, hard. "Listen to yourself, Castiel! Filled with pride and arrogance and defiance! Tell me, when did the mouse learn to roar?"

It was enough. Castiel drew back and punched the angel full in the face, knocking him to the ground in bewildered shock. He placed a foot heavily on Uriel's chest, preventing him from rising.

It struck Uriel then. He had lost the hold that had kept Castiel in check. It was obvious, but he refused to believe it. "What message were you sent that would put this rebellion in your head, Castiel? You who wanders lost in doubt and faithlessness, always questioning; you who never hears the Lord's voice, while I am privy to His thoughts and wishes!"

Castiel met his eye without fear now. "There was no message. There was conversation. He came to me and spoke. He filled me with new strength, and bade me to keep to my order. So tell me, Uriel... Why, when God assures me I am doing His will; do you claim that your revelation instructs us otherwise? Why would my Lord give me two tasks that are at cross purposes? I must conclude that one is false. Whom do I choose to obey, then? You, or our Blessed Lord Himself?"

Uriel could not hide his shock this time. "You claim.." he sputtered, "You claim that He met with you? You're a liar! No one ever sees Him!"

"I did." Castiel said with steely quiet. He released him and stepped back. "Go, Uriel. Leave me to do what I know is right; don't delay me any longer. And you'd better look inside your heart, because the path you follow now is not His. I offer you this warning now, in honor of our former friendship. Beware, because nothing you do escapes His scrutiny. Think again about your motives; you are being watched." He turned with curt dismissal, leaving Uriel sitting on the ground, open-mouthed. As he left him far behind, Castiel felt a heavy load had suddenly been shed from his shoulders. He had severed his ties with Uriel, and no matter what the repercussions may be, it felt _right_.

* * *

Bobby had long ago placed a blanket on Sam where he was curled up on the sofa. He'd sleep it off. He was relieved that the kid wasn't sick; he'd consumed an impressive volume of hard liquor, but he believed it was good for him. He needed the catharsis to shed some of his tightly wound emotion. So did Dean, but he had his own way to do it. Bobby knew he needed the space; the distance and comfort offered by his dad's old car. But it had been a long time. Bobby found himself pacing. He was getting a headache, his tension threatening to shred his meager patience. He stared yet again at the clock on the kitchen wall, frowning at what it told him. _Where the hell was he-?_

* * *

Dean drove in silence. All these things...he could barely force his mind to analyse it all. His anger was there, simmering on the back-burner. _Trickster._ The sonofabitch had started it all, and stood by while the three of them circled the bowl a few times, batted around by angels and demons alike before Ruby finally flushed them. He should have known. The whole thing was such a lousy, ugly experience; he wished it had stayed a god-damned dream. But it was Sam's description of the end that was most unsettling of all. He'd shot himself. Crying over Dean's own dead body, Sam had chosen to end his life; blowning his brains out in grief and horror and remorse. Dean couldn't shake the image. _Stupid sonofabitch-! _It angered and confused him to think of his brother's last act. He wanted to hate him; he was certainly sick of him at the moment. But to have done something like that... He knew how distressed and bereft Sam must have felt. He knew Sam was consumed by guilt. He wanted to say good on him, but he couldn't. He just couldn't let him suffer over it anymore. Hell, they'd all suffered enough for a while. He knew he was going to forgive him eventually, might as well be now, since there were other, bigger problems lurking at the dawn of each day. He sighed, feeling the tension relax a little in his jaw and shoulders. Sam was right, he did grind his teeth when he was screwed up. When the hell did he start doing that..?

As he drove on aimlessly, he admired the deep navy sky stretched out all around him. It was speckled with stars; more like dusted with them. In the city, you didn't see half of what was actually out there, most of it was drowned out by the pollution of artificial light. It may have little going for it out here, but one thing it did have was clean, open space. He appreciated that. No wonder Bobby stayed here. You could be by yourself, with out threat of some jackass invading your personal peace.

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted. He heard soft, feminine laughter behind him, and before he could turn around, two slender, warm hands covered his eyes playfully.

"Guess who?" a familiar voice sang.

Shocked, he stomped the brakes and shook free of her before it landed the Impala in the ditch, or worse. He ground to a halt and whipped around, a gun already drawn in his trembling hand, but the back seat was empty. He was alone in the car, as far as he could see. He kept staring for several tense minutes, seeing nothing but the black leather and empty shadows, and no sound but the deep rumble of the idling engine met his ears. Finally he relaxed, feeling a little silly. He was so god-damned tired, he chalked it up to weary and overwrought imagination. He sighed and rubbed his dry and gritty eyes. It was high time he got back anyway. Bobby would be crapping himself if he stayed out much longer. He took a deep and shaky breath to clear his head, and put it in gear and did a u-turn, glad to be heading toward a bed. It was a simple wish that would be denied him tonight.

He reached toward the radio, needing the distraction to stay awake. Finding some classic rock station, he left it there. He smiled in appreciation; it was a Zeppelin tune, and exactly what he needed. As he listened absently, it began to change. For a moment, he wondered if it was some live recording, but it devolved into screaming sounds and a cacophony of ugly animal noises. He frowned and reached for the knob again.

"You don't like my music choice?" she asked.

He startled, recoiling. His passenger sat beside him, smiling like a crocodile.

"You!" he hissed.

"That's right, sweetheart. Your best friend Ruby. Did you miss me..?" she laughed.

He tried to brake, tried to reach for a weapon, but he couldn't take his hands from the wheel. He couldn't pull himself from the back of the seat, he was instantly pressed so hard against it that he was pinned and immobile. The car went where it wanted, independent of his will. It turned onto a dark gravel track and coasted to stop.

He struggled deperately against her demonic hold, tendons standing out like steel in his neck with the strain, but it was hopeless.

She tipped her head. "You didn't answer me, Dean. Did you miss me?"

He found it difficult to speak, with his head pressed so rigidly back against the head rest. "Like cancer!" he ground out.

The door locks shot down with a definitive thump. Her manner became coy; she batted her eyes, sidling up to him where he was pinned. He tensed, expecting anything, and none of it pleasant. He didn't ask what she wanted, he could guess. She reached out and stroked his taut cheek languidly, and he flinched.

"What's the matter Dean? You don't like me? Sam does...well, did. You know, your brother is a sweet boy. He's beautiful, and I've had such a blast bedding him. God, the things I've taught him to do!" she giggled. He stared at her with disgust. She ran her fingers over his lips, stroking his rough chin, and leaned forward to breathe across his ear. "But you...oh I think you're a better match for me. I'll bet you know lots of things that would land you in the confessional. You know some delicious little sins, don't you.?"

He growled, and summoning every ounce of his energy against the bonds that held him, he head-butted her solidly.

Stunned for a moment, she swore, clutching her nose, which began to bleed profusely. "You pious bastard!" she hissed at him, and she grabbed his hair, forcing his head back harshly. "You have no idea how much I want to claw your eyes out right now! But that won't do, unfortunately. Poor Sammy has to think you left him by your own cowardly hand, or this whole nauseating little experiment will be pointless!"

"What are you talking about, you lying skank?"

She yanked him back harder. "The nurturing of the Golden Child. Bringing young Samuel along to reach his full potential. You are such a f~~king wrench in the works! Every time I turn around, you're there screwing up my efforts! I left you a dead pile in a field, but here you are again. Well, it stops here, big brother. Thanks to that grinning idiot Loki, I have a fresh shot at it. Of course, now that it's all been told, Sam doesn't trust me anymore. But in a little while, he'll need support. No one will be there for him, poor thing. His big brother, his shining knight, went off in his car and selfishly killed himself. They're going to find you, stiff as a board, maybe with a sappy little note explaining it all. Poor boy will be devastated. When he finds out you chucked it all and abandoned him, who do you think he'll turn to for solace-?"

His heart skipped in fear. He struggled hopelessly against her hold, but it was wasted effort. She had him cold. "He'll never believe it! " he ground out. "He'll know right off that you, or one of your filth, was behind it! Sam knows I'd never-"

"Sam is sobbing in guilt drenched self loathing right now. He's sure you hate him. Oh I've been watching...I know he feels miserable, he feels so deeply responsible for what happened to you. And I know the last things you said to him before you went for this little ride. He might doubt it for a little while, but I'll straighten him out. You won't be there to interfere anymore, and without your big mouth, he's a gullible ball of clay in my hand. He'll believe your suicide when I'm done. And he'll feel so lonely, so abandoned...so betrayed. And then I'll console him, poor baby. "

"You bitch!" he hissed.

She laughed. "That's right. If it's any consolation, Dean, you were right. You're always right, aren't you? I want him to fulfill the prophesies, not stop them. I've wanted that from the beginning. He is blind, isn't he? But that's your fault. You give him nothing, and I fill the void."

"No-"

"Oh yes. He was your big, dumb burden. He told me that's how he felt. I owe you a thank-you, really. I hardly had to charm him; your overbearing attitude pushed him right into my welcoming arms." She turned away from his face, rifling his jacket for the pocket knife she knew was always there. John Winchester's old swiss army standard, scuffed and worn; Dean was meticulous at keeping it honed to razor sharpness. She found it and unfolded the blade.

"Don't-!" he choked.

She winked at him. "Sorry gorgeous. Nothing personal, you know." She stopped and laughed. "..Actually, that's a lie. This is totally personal!" She laid the blade against the white skin inside his left wrist and drew it down swiftly. She didn't even have to press, it was sharp enough to cut leather. He groaned against the sudden pain; the thin flesh laid open as blood welled up and flowed with a surprising and frightening volume.

"Bitch!" he grated, sweating and trying desperately to wrench his hands free from their frozen grip on the wheel. "You lousy, evil pile of shit!" He ranted against her, immobile and pinned helplessly. The stream of warm blood ran from his wrist, dripping rapidly down onto the faded denim of his jeans. In minutes his thigh was soaked.

"How are you feeling, Dean? Dizzy? Getting a little chilly?" she asked with mock concern, peering closely into his eyes. He tried to wrench his head away from the hold, but he succeeded only in amusing her. She kissed him hard on his mouth, then drew a languid finger through the flow of red, and put it to her lips. "Oh...so, so tasty." she sighed. "..The blood of the virtuous." She snorted at that, and he swore at her and spat into her face. She wiped away the insult and slapped him hard.

"Don't make me hurt you the way I want to!" she threatened.

"You stupid demon whore! None of this is going to matter!" he spat. "Sam isn't that easy, he'll know it was you! When they find me like this, the first thing they''ll think is that some demon crap got to me! You're tripping yourself up by doing this; Bobby will see to it that he stays far away from you!" He was feeling dizzy. His hand had become icy, and the cold crept up his arm steadily as he bled, but he locked his eyes on hers in defiance.

She slid her warm hand inside his shirt, feeling the rise and fall of his panicked breathing, and settling over his rapidly beating heart. "Dear old Uncle Bobby will be in the ground. His influence will end when he keels over with a bad heart, which will be right after they find your bloodless, cold carcass. ..One more reason Sam will need my comfort." She turned, and without further preamble, she laid the blade against his other wrist in the same fashion, cutting a deep line across the ropy veins that stood out with his white-knuckle grip. He let out a strangled howl, tears of futile rage and despair sliding freely from his eyes.

"You just screwed up any chance you had with him!" he panted. "He knows what you did to us in the field was real; you can't undo that!"

"I won't have to...I'll be a lovely, warm port in the storm." she breathed. "Poor lonely Sam...he'll be so shocked by your selfish act, so confused and hurt, filled with doubt...and when Bobby dies in the dirt in front of him, you know he'll fall apart, and I'll be there to pick up all the pieces. None of what happened before will matter anymore, because he'll have all the love and support he needs to go on. Don't worry, Dean, your little brother will thrive in my care." She wriggled close to him and closed her eyes, relishing the weakening of his pulse beneath her fingers as he bled out. He squeezed his eyes tight and sobbed in bitter rage at this unbelievable turn of events, hating the cloying feeling of her touch as she clung to him and laughed with ugly, self congratulatory mirth. She held her hand pressed against his chest; it was sick, like some devoted but demented lover, waiting patiently, enjoying the sensation as his heartbeat grew light and irregular with the steady loss of blood.

His skin was cold now; clammy with sweat. He felt foggy, and he was losing strength fast. It was an effort to speak clearly. "You...you're wrong. They'll know... You just blew it; you don't know who you're dealing with-" The feeling of faintness enveloped him like a damp wool blanket. He blinked hard to ward it off but sound and vision blended into incoherent darkness. The cold had crept to his core, his body now moving into shock, and he hardly felt it when she released her hold and his hands dropped limply to his sides. She felt safe in doing so, she could see that there was nothing he could do now. He made a soft sound and slumped against the door.

He never heard the glass shatter. He never heard her scream.

* * *

Castiel arrived at the place. He stood for a moment, surveying the yard. A heavy-set and potentially menacing mixed breed dog approached him, but when it came near, the aggressive posture melted, and he flipped the angel's hand with his nose, tail wagging, and whining for his attention. Castiel looked down at the creature. Dogs. They always trusted him. He touched it, and it wriggled in pleasure; entire hind-end moving along with his tail. The house looked quiet, there were few lights on. It had seen better days; a large late victorian frame, paint peeling, shingles curling, surrounded by a sea of immobile wrecks. Castiel knew it was Bobby Singer's sanctuary, and he knew that the man played a strong supportive role in this drama. He was glad that the brothers were here, it was a good place. He strode between the piles of car parts and was about to open the door when he was struck still. He was overwhelmed by a piercing and urgent sense of danger. He stood frozen, absorbing the feeling and imagery as the dog whined in sympathetic anxiety. Something terrible, something evil, was underway-

Rumsfeld began to howl alarmingly, reacting to the sudden tension emanating from the visitor. Bobby heard it, he snapped to and hastened to look out through the fly-specked and nose-printed window into the yard. The dog was a good watch dog, Rumsfeld never failed to alert him when things were off, and the sound he made now made the hair stand up on the back of the elder hunter's neck. He glanced at Sam, who was still out of it on the couch. Hand on the knob, he was poised to open the door when Castiel burst in.

"Wake him!" the angel barked urgently. "He's under siege!"

Bobby shook his head in bewildered fear. "Cas! What the hell?"

"Do it! She's here, she's with him!" he said breathlessly. He pointed at Sam where he lay. "Dean is in peril; I need him, and I need you!"

Bobby didn't have a clue what the agitated visitor was talking about, but he shook Sam roughly until he got a grudging response.

"What? For shits sake, Bobby, lemme sleep!" Sam complained.

"Get up, boy! Castiel is here, and Dean's in trouble! We have to go, now!"

The words penetrated the fog of alcohol and exhaustion, and Sam sat bolt upright. "What? What did you say-?"

Castiel answered. "Your brother is in her hands. Close your eyes!"

Both men knew well enough to do what he demanded. The blinding flash that accompanied that order was felt by both of them through their tightly clamped lids, and they were whisked by Castiel's unique means from where they stood in the room to an isolated gravel sideroad, god-know's-where. They stood in bewilderment, anxious as Castiel made a motion for silence. They could see the Impala, parked silently ahead. Sam was still affected by his earlier consumption, he couldn't process that quickly and he looked in frightened confusion to Bobby for direction. Bobby shook his head, and all eyes turned to the Angel. Castiel was already creeping toward the car. He gestured to the others to do the same, and his expression amply telegraphed the need for caution.

"Come on, boy, and stay quiet!" Bobby whispered tersely. Sam nodded. The trio crept toward the vehicle. As they approached, they could see Dean was in it, and he was not alone. A dark-haired woman was draped on him where he sat; they couldn't see who it was from behind. For a moment, Sam was loathe to interrupt Dean when he was apparently making his moves on some girl. It wasn't the first time he'd seen that view. But the sounds that reached their ears were hardly those of a happy tryst. She spoke in a clipped and angry tone, too quietly for Sam to pick up on what she said, but he heard Dean. Dean had sworn at her. And Sam was sure, even from his disadvantaged position, that his brother's voice had sounded oddly strained.

They saw his position change. Where he'd been sitting upright before, he suddenly slumped to the side. Sam shot a look of alarm at Bobby, but before either could react, Castiel moved.

He did more than move, he rushed the car and brought a fist down hard against the glass of the door, shattering it, and he reached in and grasped the passenger. He hauled her, as she kicked and screamed, out onto the dark roadside.

It was Sam, who recognized her first. "Ruby! Jesus, Bobby-" He didn't wait for the older man to react. Sam dove forward and threw himself at the two figures that were rolling now in a screaming, clawing fight in the gravel. He grabbed Ruby's flailing arms and pinned them behind her back as Castiel struggled to hold her feet. Castiel looked around in desperation for Bobby. When he caught sight of him, he shouted, "You! Get him out of here, you have no time!"

Bobby snapped to action and skidded to the driver's side, hauling the door open. He barely caught Dean as he fell limp and heavy against him. Bobby took in the sight of him; white-faced, unconscious, his arms and clothing running with blood. In an instant he saw the reason. "Aw Christ!" he murmured. He knew time was precious. He shoved Dean to the other side of the car and jumped in behind the wheel. Dean stirred momentarily, moaning in a sweaty, shivering lament. Bobby threw it in reverse. glancing at the struggle that was unfolding in the dust. There was nothing he could do for them; they were on their own, and he knew that it was imperative that he floor it to the hospital. He offered a prayer on their behalf, fervent and loud.

* * *

He knew where to go. The local hospital was no more than twenty minutes away, but as he drove madly, he watched Dean as he lay beside him on the seat. Twenty minutes...he wasn't sure they had it to spare. His dilemma was whether to stop and bind the heavily bleeding cuts at Dean's wrists, or just keep driving at top speed. Dean stirred, and frowned in confusion as Bobby's hand pressed against his chest and kept him from rolling off the seat. Dean squinted, and recognized his companion.

"Bobby-?"

"Ssshh, it's ok, almost there-" Bobby assured him, relieved that Dean was still with him.

Dean tried to push himself up from the seat, but weakness prevented it. "It was Ruby-" he struggled to say, "Tell Sam... I'd never do this-"

"I know, son. Hush, now, don't waste your strength."

But Dean grew agitated. "She said she'd kill you-" he tried to warn. "She wants Sam...she cut me, so he'd think I-"

Bobby glanced down, trying not to panic at the amount of blood Dean had shed. "I know. He and Castiel have her. They have her, Dean, don't fret-"

Dean moaned softly, complaining of being cold. Even in his compromised mental state, Dean had enough experience to know it was critical now. He struggled to raise himself again, without success. Shaking with chill, he pulled his arms close, clutching them to his chest. "Bobby..." he whispered, "You gotta bind me up, I'm bleeding out."

Bobby pulled over quickly, his dilemma solved by the all important second opinion. He unclasped and pulled his leather belt free from his waist and lifted Dean's left arm. He quickly wound it above his elbow and cinched it tightly. He searched for something else to deal with the other wound, but nothing presented itself. Dean was drifting in and out of awareness, as blood kept seeping from his wrist onto his clothing.

"Dean, I need something else to wrap you-"

He didn't answer. Bobby peered at him closely, and Dean's pallor alarmed him and he began to panic in earnest. He rummaged under the seat, searching desperately for anything of use; a piece of twine, a bungee, a freaking liquorice whip, anything. He breathed a sigh of relief at the dented, dusty roll of duct tape he brought up. He pulled off a length, grabbed Dean's other arm and wound the tape around the cut until the blood stopped flowing, tearing it off with his teeth and pulling the last strip as tightly as he could. Satisfied for the moment, he fired the Impala up and floored it again. He kept his right hand on his friend, as much to keep him from rolling as to assure himself that Dean's spirit still resided in its failing vessel. He could feel his heart, beating far too quickly. He swore a litany of quiet and creative curses as he drove.

Dean stirred again, something penetrating his fog, something urgent. He moaned and turned his face up. "Bobby, ...it's too late. ..turn around-"

"It isn't! Don't you say that, boy, we're almost there now-" Bobby felt the change in Dean's heart-rate, it fluttered like a bird's. He red-lined it.

Dean was agitated. He felt the creeping black wall begin to win out, but he knew that Sam and Castiel were back there, holding the tiger by the tail, and he didn't know if it was enough. "Go back there, they need you...she's strong, too strong-"

"No! Damn it, if I turn around now you're a dead man! Trust in them, they have it handled, so stop talking, for god's sake, boy!" The place he sought was in his view ahead. He slowed and turned abruptly into the emergency lane. He leapt out of the barely stopped vehicle, growling "Stay put!" as if Dean were still a flight risk. He wasn't. He was swamped by his wall of blackness, breathing in sporadic gasps as his body began to fail him.

* * *

The nurses looked up in shock at the wild-eyed, bearded character that shouted at them now. "Help me!" he demanded. "He's bleeding bad, he's dying-!"

Medical staff instantly galvanized to action, and hurried to follow as he dashed back out to the Impala and yanked the passenger door open. They saw the man inside, impossibly pale and sodden with blood, and their well-honed training took over. Bobby was pushed aside brusquely and a gurney appeared. Dean was hauled out of the car and laid swiftly on the white sheets, and whisked away into the building. It was all done in mere seconds, but to Bobby's panicked eyes, it appeared in agonizingly slow motion. He was left standing, shaken, as the doors slid closed, cutting him off from the continuing drama. He stood in shock, not moving, and at a loss. He glanced down at himself, wiping distractedly at the blood that streaked his jacket, and hands. He didn't want to leave him now. He didn't know if Dean would still be there when he returned. For a moment, John's face flashed in his mind_, _condemning his failed effort_. -I did what I could_- he thought in despair..

An ambulance drove up abruptly behind him. He shook himself and realized that he was now in the way of someone else's unfolding tragedy, and he got into the car and moved out of the way.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Bobby watched them cross the pavement behind him; a harried looking man, young, carrying a two or three year old, who was protesting her interrupted sleep. He followed a very pregnant young woman. She'd already stepped out of the car, wearing a hopeful and determined expression, and the staff sat her in a chair and wheeled her inside while hubby raced to keep up with them with her suitcase. Everyone radiated nervous excitement...another life was about to be born into this place. The scene caught Bobby, and held him for a moment, and he fought the urge to break down. Circle of life. One soul leaves, another takes it's place. He prayed that they already had one lined up for the little newcomer, and that Dean Winchester's would not be required tonight.

He shook it off, reminded of the other drama that was in play, and he tightened his hands on the wheel and floored it, tires squealing away into the night.

* * *

"Suicide!" the nurse barked at the attending physician. They quickly ascertained that the man laid out in bloody stillness was in severe hypovolemic shock. It was almost a waste of their preciously low blood stocks to try to bring him back, especially since it was abundantly clear that he probably didn't want it. But they fought for him anyway. He was young, after all. He looked strong. If they could get him back to physical stability, then they could address the issue of getting his head screwed on straight.

His failing heart fought their efforts. Several times they lost his weak and thready pulse, and he was shocked back to rhythm. They estimated that he'd lost a third of his blood, and his systems had stalled, nearly to the point of death. He already had the colour and temp of a cadaver, but slowly, he warmed, losing the waxen appearance as some one else's blood began to expand his starved capillaries. When his heartrate returned to something acceptable and he began to breathe evenly, he was taken into surgery to repair his injuries. They wondered who he was, and what possible miseries in his life could have brought him to such a low point. If he'd heard them he'd have laughed out loud.

The surgery was straightforward. His left wrist needed stitches, but his right had been cut deeper, and required tendon repair. When the wounds were closed, he was wheeled into a separate room for recovery. He was checked periodically, as they waited for him to regain consciousness. Nurses came and went, reading monitors, assessing. Some clucked sadly over him...such a waste...and where was his family?

When he didn't awaken within the expected time-frame, the doctors feared he never would.

* * *

"Hold her!" Castiel shouted to Sam.

Sam tried. He grasped her tightly in desperation, as she screamed and squirmed and flailed. Cas was attempting to let go, so that he could regroup to exorcise her back to hell. She had far more strength than they realized, and Castiel was thrown back when she managed to free a hand. He hit the wire cattle fence behind, stunned for a moment, while Sam gritted his teeth and hung on to the whirlwind of fury. She scratched him bloody, and bit him time and time again. He shouted at the angel, to snap him out of his stupor, because he was losing his grip on her. She landed a well placed knee to his groin, and he was forced to release her. She crawled away, as Castiel got back to his feet shakily and advanced on her.

"You think you can win this?" she panted. It wasn't a woman's voice any longer, it sounded like a beast attempting to form it's mouth around the foreign feel of a language that was not its own. Her eyes shone black, like hematite, and an eerie reddish light seemed to escape from behind them. She raised her hand, and Sam was thrown back, wrapped tightly around a fence post. He howled as the force of it kept him there, the rusted tines of old barbed wire piercing the skin of his arms as he pulled against the hold. He strained wildly against the pressure, and when he saw the angel once again thrown like a ragdoll away from her, he felt something begin to change within him.

Castiel raised himself from where he'd landed, groggy and bloodied from the impact. He shook his head clear, and stubbornly, heroically, he threw himself at her again. He knew that she was more than his physical match. He didn't know what manner of demon she was, but he knew that it was something powerful, something more than she'd led them all to believe, and she'd been masquerading as less all this time, to lull them into acceptance. If they'd known what really had been walking in their midst...

If he could just get her onto the ground, and lay his hand on her head, he could burn the demon out. But he couldn't, not by himself; and Sam was as weak against her as he was. He bowled her over and carried her down to the gravel again, as she wailed and screamed in a voice that nearly made his ears bleed. She scrambled free and spun to face him, and this time she did not cast him away from her. This time she grabbed him by the hair and began to sing a strange chant, in a language neither had ever heard. Castiel slipped to his knees, suddenly drained of the power to stand. Her hand seemed to burn through his hair and scalp and skull, the heat, or energy; the pure unfettered evil, flowed from her palm and pierced his very soul. He screamed silently as a sickly radiance began to shine from his eyes, and he felt his grace being torn from every cell within his body. The last thing he saw before he shuddered and collapsed was her indescribably hideous face, as she revealed her true nature.

As the angel fell, Sam witnessed in horror. Castiel lay still in the dark, wisps of sulphurous smoke rising from the place she'd touched him. Ruby staggered back from what she'd done, revealing briefly the toll it had taken to spend such power. Her unsteadiness was only for a moment; she stood tall again and levelled her gaze at Sam.

"You failed me!" she growled. It was a timbre that Sam had never heard; deep and resonent, but filled with other sounds as if accompanied by some chorus of hissing echoes. He was horrified, but he pushed down his fear, and felt a powerful upwelling of hate within him. His own eyes began to burn with heat as he felt the last constraints that bound his power fall away like broken iron bands. The pressure that had held him tight to the rotted fencepost faded and he dropped to his hands and knees into the tall grass.

He never let his eyes leave hers. She stood still, shocked as he shrugged off her hold like it was nothing. She mumbled something in the ancient language again, and stepped back in uncertain fear. Sam rose to his feet with a methodical slowness, his intense and piercing stare still locked on her eyes. Castiel moaned and tried to rise, but he stopped still when Sam growled at him.

"Angel, don't move!"

* * *

Castiel made a split second decision, he sensed the power rising along with the anger in Sam, and he wisely held back. He'd already proved weaker than the demon, and the eerie fluorescence that emanated from the young hunter filled Castiel with fear and awe. Sam Winchester gave himself now to the power that flowed in his veins. Whether or not it was born of evil, it blossomed in him now; a fearsome tide that flowed, for now, on the side of good.

But Castiel feared the aftermath. "Sam!" he warned.

Sam did not break eye contact with the demon, who stood transfixed in fear, poised to flee, but still so filled with wild hatred that she still craved the taste of his death. "Stay still, Castiel. I control it now; it doesn't control me."

Ruby took advantage of the slight distraction. She raised her arms against him and howled out to the night sky, screaming strange incantations and directing her power at Sam. Blood began to flow from his ears and nose and his eyes, but he stood, unmoving, seemingly unaffected by it. She wailed louder and her eyes widened, the whites now crimson with heat. The twisted snarl that distorted her once attractive face made her resemble some hideous gargoyle, and wisps of smoke began to curl away from Sam's clothing and hair. Blood continued to weep from his eyes, and began to drip from under his fingernails. His nostrils widened and he breathed heavily, but still he stood quietly, unwavering under her assault. He wiped the blood from his face and rubbed it between his hands. Then he raised them.

"Close your eyes!" he warned Castiel. The angel tore his gaze from the terrifying spectacle unfolding in front of him. He knew the effect his own power could have, and he heeded the warning.

What happened next was a hideous sight. The glowing heat that had begun to radiate around Sam became a blazing aura. He held his arms out firmly, and Ruby shrieked. Her skin began to blacken; it twisted and crinkled as her eyes, still locked with his, began to burn. She clawed at them, and her hair burst into flames. The demon tried to flee the body she had held hostage, but it was too late. Black sulphurous smoke appeared briefly at her mouth, but before it could leave, she burst into a blinding flash, engulfed in roaring flames. In minutes, she was immolated where she stood. The fire waned, and what remained collapsed in a charred heap into the gravel, stinking of sulphur and burned flesh.

Sam dropped to his knees. He swayed there for a moment, then fell forward, motionless at the roadside.

When the sound and light had quieted, Castiel dared to look. He got up and staggered to what had been the demon Ruby. There was nothing left of her as they knew her. He kicked at the pile of blackened ashes and charred bone, scattering the remains to the wind and the ditch. -_gone-_ She was gone. He could feel it; she hadn't simply fled, to wreak havoc at some later date, in some other stolen form. This time, her essence was destroyed, and Hell had one less soldier. He took a deep breath and released it in shuddering relief. He turned then, to see at what cost. Sam lay still. Castiel knelt by him, touching him to gauge his state. He was alive. The angel could feel the power still writhing within him, and for a moment, he was afraid to wake him. He didn't have to. Sam opened his eyes. He blinked hard several times, clearing the haze of blood from them. Castiel leaned closer and spoke to him gently.

"Sam, do you know me?"

Sam nodded.

"Do you know what happened here?"

Again he nodded. "Help me." he said hoarsely.

Castiel gently turned him over, brushing the gravel from where it stuck to Sam's face. "What do you need?"

Sam cleared his throat and sat up on his elbows. "Water. I need water..."

Castiel concentrated and in a moment, fresh cold water bubbled up from the grassy roadside. He cupped his hands and brought it to Sam, who swallowed it and coughed. "Whoa. That's better, thanks." He held out a hand and the angel pulled him to his feet, where he stood for several unsteady moments. He looked to where she had stood last. There was nothing left, just a scorched place, and a half-circle of burned and wilted weeds. "She's gone..?"

"Yes. The demon is no more." Castiel confirmed. "Sam...you allowed your power out here, you let go of the reins... It was a great benefit to us. But-"

"But you fear what's been awakened in me, don't you?" He rubbed his eyes and ran his slick hand through his hair, as he thought of how to answer now. He feared it too. "Cas, please; don't worry. It was weird... and powerful, but it felt different than the last time. This time, I knew how to hold it, I knew how to keep it chained inside. I'm not going to lie to you, it felt like a chained dragon, and the links were made of paper...but they held. I sure as hell hope I don't have to do that again anytime soon." He made his way to the spring Castiel had raised, splashing cold water over his face and washing his hands.

* * *

Both he and Cas could hear the familiar roar of an approaching car, and Bobby screeched to a halt beside them, leaping from the car. He glanced once at Castiel and took Sam's face in his hands, peering at him closely.

"You alright, boy?" he demanded, assessing him hurriedly.

Sam nodded. "Yeah." he said wearily. "She's gone, Bobby. We killed her. For good this time."

Bobby turned to Castiel, and Castiel confirmed it. Bobby sighed shakily. "Well then we better get back to Dean. I had to leave before they told me anything; he was in bad shape when I got him in.."

Sam met his eyes. "Bad shape...you mean-"

"I don't know, Sam. Right now, all I can do is pray we were in time. Let's go."

The trio climbed into the big car, Dean's car, and headed back.

* * *

Bobby filled Sam in on his brother's perilous condition. Sam sat quietly when he was done, afraid to say anything that could sway fate in the wrong direction now. He closed his eyes and swore quietly. Bobby wished he could dredge up some words of encouragement, anything to buoy him; but they refused to form, and the rest of the speedy ride was spent in worried silence. Even Castiel sat motionless and mute in the back seat, offering nothing.

Sam recounted Ruby's demise. He was still shell-shocked from the experience, and Bobby watched him as he spoke. It was just as Dean had feared and resisted all along, but the end result, it seemed, was anything but evil. _So here it is_...he thought. -_The boy's gone over the wall_. But as far as he could tell, Sam's surrender to the full strength of his power hadn't compromised him in any way. He still seemed like the young, scared kid Bobby had watched grow up; a good kid. Sam the thinker. The worrier. He looked lost now, with his big brother's life hanging by a dangerously worn thread. Bobby quietly congratulated him on their success, but Sam barely heard him as he stared out the window at the sporadic lights speeding by in the darkness.

Bobby turned to look at his other passenger. Castiel the Angel. Was there nothing he could do here to help now..? He'd been sitting heavily against the door, but as Bobby was about to speak to him, he slumped soundlessly to the seat, sprawling there and lying still. Bobby switched on the dome light and was appalled at the state of him. The angel was bloodied, more than Bobby had seen in the darkness. His hair was singed, he could smell the acrid odour, and his rumpled raincoat was shredded and torn, darkened with the stains of soil and blood. He was limp, gasping to breathe; his eyes half closed and responding to nothing.

"Jesus!" Bobby exclaimed. He swerved alarmingly, swore again, and turned to Sam. "He's down! Check on him before I put us in the damn ditch here!"

Sam turned and leaned over his seat, fearfully stretching a hand to touch Castiel's throat. "He's still with us." he said, only slightly relieved, as the angel's condition suggested that his status could change at any moment. "She was clobbering him, over and over, but he just kept on trying... Bobby, I don't know what to do here; I mean, for christ's sake, he's an angel, but he's in an accountant! Does he need a hospital, or-?"

"..no." Castiel whispered.

"What, then? Cas, please, how do we help you!"

"St...st eustachius-" he whispered weakly.

Bobby turned and demanded, "What is that? A church? Another bloody angel?"

Castiel didn't answer. Bobby turned to Sam in panic. "What now?"

Sam was already hauling his laptop out from the safe place beneath his seat. He held his breath as it warmed up, and agonizing seconds passed as he waited for the signal that he was connected. When it finally rewarded him, he quickly searched the name. "There was a church named that near here, but it's gone, says here it was deconsecrated in 1961, and burned down in sixty three-"

"Shit! Nothing else?" Bobby demanded.

"Not that I can tell. Bobby, what the hell else could he mean? It's not like there's a dozen of them around here."

Bobby wracked his brain as he drove. "I'd say it means something that it was close by. Just direct me, we'll go where it used to stand anyway. I got nothing other than that."

Sam relayed the instructions, and turned again to check on their stricken friend. Castiel lay white and still, and Sam's chest constricted as memories of their battle flooded to his mind. As he pressed his fingers once again to his throat and felt a thin pulse, it struck him. "Hallowed ground!"

"You just said it was secularized! There ain't any holiness left now!"

Sam was grasping at straws, but it was all he had. "I know, but this was an old church, and they usually had burial grounds attached, right? Even if they un-churched the building, the graveyard would still be sacred ground. Maybe that's what he needs!"

Bobby gritted his teeth, torn now between wanting to get back to Dean, who was already struggling against the lousy odds of staying alive, and turning around to aid this strange and difficult being that they owed such a debt to. But Dean was in safe hands, whereas Castiel seemed to be fading with each moment. He braked hard and whipped the car around. Several turns later, they reached the place where the former Parish of St. Eustachius had once stood. There was nothing there now but a weedy gravel parking lot, and a rectangle of trees that had sprouted from the old stones of the foundation. They couldn't see any graveyard.

Bobby leapt out with a curse and scanned wildly in the dark for anything that could point them in the right direction.

Sam checked again on Castiel. "Bobby, he's going downhill! What do we do?"

Bobby paced in a panicky circle, pressing his hand to his head in a vain attempt to calm the rioting squirrels. "Stay with him!" he barked, and he stalked across the road to where, by all rights, there should have been a graveyard. He stood, tensely examining the place. The ground was level; weedy and unkempt, and empty of anything that could possibly be a grave marker. He could see the outlines of some bushes, and the remains of an old wire fence. _Nothing._ He stared back up the road, barely seeing the freshly lined pavement of the recently widened road, rubbing his beard and praying for guidance now. Sam shouted at him to hurry, and as he turned, a realization hit him. The road. It was smooth and new; widened and re-routed in a spate of election year spending. If they'd done that, then they would have had to make room, and if there had been a burial ground, it would have been in the way. He knew what would have been done; they'd have moved the graves in the way of the digging, and consolidated them in some memorial at another site. But it was public works; they wouldn't have even given thought to deconsecrating a patch of ground, the way the church had been.

"Bobby!"

Sam's urgent voice pulled him back, and he loped back to the car. "Carry him, quick!" he barked.

Sam hauled Castiel's limp weight out of the car and slung him over his shoulder with a questioning look. "Where?"

Bobby was already running back to the field. _Of course._..he thought. It was obvious to him now, he could see the old lilacs still framing the square of ground that had remained of the old site. Sam followed him, puffing under the awkward weight of his burden. He stumbled in the ditch but managed to stay on his feet, and nearly ran into Bobby in the dark.

"Here! Drop him right here!"

Sam did so, gently. "Cas, can you hear me? Are we in the right place? Cas!"

Castiel moaned and opened his eyes. He nodded slightly. "..thank you." he mouthed soundlessly.

Bobby crouched beside him, turning his head gently to meet his fluttering eyes. "Is this what you need?"

The angel nodded. "Go." he whispered. "I am in good hands."

Neither hunter felt right leaving him, near death in a lonely roadside plot of weeds, but it was his choice, and they had other worries. They did as he asked, and returned to the car. Bobby fired the Impala and they squealed away back toward the hospital. As they left, both caught a glimpse in the mirror of something, a warm glowing light that rose momentarily from Castiel's place and disappeared again in the gloom.. Sam caught Bobby's eye, and they breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

* * *

The vista grew more and more civilized with each flying mile, and in minutes, they were parking the car in the hospital parking lot.

The attending physician was relieved to meet them. They had no identity for the man in room 27, and thus no name to put on the billing statement. After some time spent filling forms, writing carefully crafted falsehoods, they were led into the room. Dean lay quietly, on his back on pristine, undisturbed sheets, his wrists bandaged neatly. He was connected by wires and tubes to various monitors, and Sam could see the steady blip of his strong heartbeat on the screen. It was a beautiful sight. He glanced at Bobby, who returned his smile.

Dean appeared well, considering. His colour had returned, and he breathed in easy sleep. Sam sat down wearily, and Bobby did as well. Bobby asked the obvious question. "So...how is he? He looks a hell of alot better than when I brought him in here."

"Yes...well-" Dr. Arnulfsen pulled a third chair to the bedside and sat down. His expression was such that the relief both men had felt a moment ago instantly evaporated.

"What is it?" Sam demanded.

The doctor put his clipboard down. "Your brother's condition is stable. We nearly lost him a few times, but we got him back to regular rhythm, and we're building his blood volume back up to acceptable levels. But he lost a tremendous amount of blood. Without the oxygen it delivers, damage can occur in a very short time. What was your name again?"

"Sam."

"Right, Sam. Well Sam...what I'm trying to say here is that we believe there may have been some neurological damage."

It was a terrible deja-vu. Sam's mouth went dry, and he looked to Bobby for support. Bobby spoke for both of them. "What kind of damage?"

"We haven't been able to bring him out of sedation. He appears to be in a comatose state. We've monitored him closely; there is no indicator as of yet just what the problem is. But he's resisted all our efforts to bring him back to consciousness. And unfortunately, that is all I can tell you at this time. I'm sorry."

There they were, those two miserable words. _I'm sorry._ They were the worst thing you could hear escape the lips of a medical professional. I'm sorry. It meant there's no hope. It meant give up, and go back home alone.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Bobby shook his head in disbelief. -_No_. Not after everything they'd gone through. He caught Sam's expression, the young man had blanched to an ashen colour, and had stopped breathing at the words. He stared at the doctor, demanding; "But it's only been a short time, right? I mean hell, it ain't like he's been a vegetable for months, how can you even tell this is a problem?"

The doctor cleared his throat. "The point is, he never came out of the anesthetic. Look, I don't want to quash all hope, but this is not shaping up to what we'd like. I have to be frank here...there's limited chance that he'll regain consciousness. We got him stabilized as fast as we could, but he was in shock long enough to cause any degree of oxygen deprivation. We are continually testing him for responses to stimuli, but he just doesn't react. So far, there is plenty of brain activity, so it's not technically a vegetative state, I mean, I'm not suggesting that the machines are the only thing keeping him alive. He's breathing on his own, his heart rate is good. But he is deep in some subconsciousness state. He's REMing all hours, dreaming. That in itself is a good sign, but we've just about tried our entire arsenal of physical and pharmaceutical stimulants, and despite that, we just can't pull him to the surface. And the truth of the matter is, if he hasn't regained consciousness by now, the chances are slim that he ever will."

Both men stared at him in shock. Dr. Arnie was never the king of bedside manner, and what he would call frank speech was often misconstrued as cold. Sam found his voice after a moment.

"What...what are you saying here? He's not going to wake up? He'll stay in this sleeping state?"

The surgeon realized his blunt words had hit harder than he'd intended. "No...yes, well, I mean.. Look; something in your brother's brain has been affected. We don't know to what level he's been damaged by this. These things are unpredictable at best. I'm not suggesting this is a pull-the-plug situation, I'm simply trying to lay out the reality as we know it. Physically, he's healing; the cuts he inflicted on his wrists were clean and reparable, but he is unresponsive to all the tests we continually put him through. However, it's still early. I've seen some astonishing recoveries in my day, but unfortunately I've also seen patients who, for no calculable reason, never regain function. It's only been a short time. Some people awaken months after the trauma, and recover well." He didn't say the rest out loud. _-but most don't_.

Bobby shook his head in disbelief, or more accurately, denial. "With all due respect, Doc; you don't know this man. This sonofabitch is made of iron. I've seen him shrug off far worse than this, more times than I can count. We ain't about to call him a house-plant; not yet, not under any circumstance. You wait and see; he'll be up and kicking ass and taking names before you even got the damn toe-tag filled out, I guarantee it!" His words were a fierce rejection of the doctor's statement, and he wanted more than anything to believe them.

Sam, for his part, fell mute. Arnulfsen's prognosis struck deep into his soul, and his walls crumbled. He stared wide-eyed from one to the other, and his shining eyes settled on his brother's face. "No!" he choked. " No, this is not happening here, I swear to God, I-" He got up abruptly, kicked his miserable plastic chair aside and stormed out.

Arnulfsen turned to Bobby apologetically. "I guess they're close, are they?"

Bobby nodded, still stunned. After a moment, he found his own voice. "I'd better go after him."

Arnulfsen looked at his patient for a moment. Dean remained as he was, peacefully in slumber, his face relaxed as if perfectly carefree. "You're his uncle, I gather. Do you have any idea why he would do this to himself? This was not your average cry for help; his cuts were deep and thorough. Any clue as to what drove him to this despair?"

For a moment, Bobby didn't understand. "It was her; she did it to him."

Arnulfsen nodded knowingly. "Ah. A ruined relationship...it's not the first time someone tried to end it over failed love. Damned thin reason, really. Too bad."

Bobby realized what he was saying. His chest tightened, and he balled his hands into white-knuckled fists. He wanted to shout at him that Dean Winchester would never do that, he might sacrifice himself a hundred times over for his family, but regardless of his own miseries he would never take such an easy road.

But he snorted, and looked away, his eyes tearing up. No point in declaring any of it to the doctor. All he had was the evidence lying quietly in front of him. Anyone who mattered knew the real truth.

* * *

The gentle sway of his hammock finally woke him. The breeze had picked up, and Dean stretched and yawned, squinting through the dappled light that filtered down through the butternut trees that supported his woven bed. He sighed in deep contentment and dropped his feet over the edge. The lawn was a bit scruffy; he thought it was time to give it a buzz. Finding solid ground, he hauled himself out of the comfortable napping place and headed into the kitchen.

Maggie was there, preparing a late lunch. He came up behind her and encircled her waist, nuzzling her hair. "Guess what I'm thinking..." he whispered.

She laughed and shoved him away. "You dirty old man! And no, by the way!" She giggled as he pouted. He ran his hand through his salt & pepper hair, and perused her efforts. She had sliced her home-made bread, and stacked it high with cold-cuts, and lettuce and tomatoes from the garden. A generous and colourful salad rounded it out. A fragrant apple pie waited, cooling on the counter.

"Huh. Looks half decent, I guess you won't poison me today."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. But don't get too cocky;it could be any day now." she retorted, with a twinkle in her eye.

He smiled lopsidedly and put some plates out on the table. "Just us?"

"Danny is out right now, I sent him to pick up some things from town, but Dwight was going to drop by. I invited him to join us." She caught his grimace. "He took the truck, not the Blessed Impala! But you know you promised him he could take it tomorrow night if he did the grass."

He pursed his lips._ Shit.._. There was no way he could back out of it now. His son had just turned sixteen and had gotten his license first try. Dean had secretly hoped he'd have to take two or three runs at it, but the kid had a knack. Dean added a plate and went in search of cutlery. As he turned to set the table, he stumbled into pair of massive, curly-coated dogs, who had entered the kitchen and stood like hairy, tongue-lolling monoliths, drawn by the scent of ham. Dean ruffled each wiry head and sent them packing, grumbling, "God, you and your damned wolfhounds! You know; most chicks would have chosen a dog that fits in a handbag."

Maggie elbowed him out of the way, her hands laden with her afternoon efforts. "Well I'm not like most chicks, am I? If you want to trade me in for a new model with bleached blond hair, giant fake knockers and some bug-eyed purse-chihuahua, you go right ahead and try, old man!"

He smirked. _Never._ He was glad that Dwight was coming over. He hadn't seen much of his old neighbour lately, as his health had been deteriorating, and he'd taken to going south to warmer and more hospitable climates for winter. Dean had sent him down to Bobby's cousin Sally's in the Keys years ago, and ever since, he'd been going annually. When his Aunt Edith had finally passed, bless'er, Dwight had seemed a little lost. He'd seen to the disbursement of her estate with his lawyerly efficiency, but as a widower himself, the passing of his last remaining kin had hit him hard. Dean and Maggie were always glad to fill the void for him, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Edith had bequeathed her old Nova Scotia home to Dean and Sam so long ago. It was simply friendship. He set the things out on the table as his wife of, what, twenty-one? years returned to the kitchen for more things. He watched the sway of her still trim backside, and he had to smile again. It was all so good now, and had been for so long.. It was night and day from when he was younger...

* * *

Bobby found him in the Impala. He was red-eyed, and wiping angrily at his eyes and nose. He opened the passenger door and sat with him. They stayed quiet for a while. Bobby let Sam try to regroup and regain control of his emotions before he spoke. It was as much for himself as it was for the younger man. Finally he broke the unhappy silence.

"I wasn't just blowing hot air there, Sam. I truly believe he'll shrug this off, I really do. But it'll be up to us to draw him back. All we gotta do is stay around for him, talk to him, let him know we're here and waiting for him to join us."

Sam covered his eyes again, and his shoulders shook with renewed sobbing. Finally he managed to speak. "I'm so tired of this, Bobby, jesus f~~king christ, I just can't do this any more."

Bobby waited for him to continue. He rubbed his own eyes hard.

Sam stared out the windshield at the rising light of dawn. He spoke again, his voice a strangled and hoarse tone. "This is a nightmare, not just for me, or you. Dean deserves better. I mean, where the hell is God, or who-ever? Why does this keep happening to him, and to us? I thought we were supposed to be chosen, or favoured, or something? Dean at least-" He couldn't continue, and he kicked the floor hard and swore.

Bobby had no answer. He was as devastated as Sam was, but he knew his role. It was only through supreme effort that he continued to play it. He laid a gentling hand on Sam's arm. "Kid, there ain't no guarantees on any day, bad or good. Shit happens to everybody, and we hunters all stand in front of so much extra threat that it just bucks the odds, you know? You know it, I know it, and Dean for sure knows it. I wish it was different as much as you do, but we gotta suck it up and stay strong for his sake. And if anyone can pull him out of this, it's you. I don't say this to put the load on your shoulders, but the truth is, he loves you more than anything. If you and I keep trying, I know we can bring him back. I may be a jaded, bitter old man, but as God is my bloody witness, I do believe that."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then dissolved again into tears. Bobby let him cry it out, fighting the desperate urge to do so himself. He was tired too...he'd been through so much himself, and with John, and now his sons. But Dean needed them to stay stalwart. He chose his timing and words with care. "Ok, Sam. You and me; we've had our cry over this damn thing. Now we pull it together and we work to bring him back, right..?"

Sam finally nodded.

"Good. Good. Now, those docs in there, they're about to file him as hopeless, but we know different, don't we?"

Again Sam nodded.

"So now, all we gotta do is talk to him. You and me have to find the right words to make him want to surface. I know he can hear us, I know that whatever is keeping him from coming out of this is just a matter of of priorities. Dean loves you, and he'd do anything for you, we know that. So let's let him know just how much we need him to be here."

Sam raised his eyes and rubbed them hard. "Yeah. Yeah, Bobby. All we have to do is stay here with him, make him want to come back. We can do that. I can do it."

Bobby squeezed his shoulder. "Atta boy. Dean's just gotta know how much he's needed. Now let's go tell him."

* * *

Sam tried. So did Bobby. Days passed, with no response from Dean. They spelled each other, each taking a turn regrouping at Bobby's, while the other kept vigil. Bobby read the paper to him, and when there were no doctors or nurses present, he read from the highly informative articles in the latest Penthouse Forum. Sam read from the National Enquirer, it was a bona-fide research tool after all. And at other times, when it was quiet and late and dark, he simply spoke to him softly, and begged his brother to come back. Once in a while, he thought that Dean grimaced, or stirred with a small protest. He was never sure if it was real, or imagined, and Dean always seemed to return to the peaceful state in which he seemed to be taking refuge. Sam had to wonder at what was behind those dreams. Dean's expression was one of deep contentment, and it was a rarity to see. The lines of worry, of stress, had softened in his face. Sam felt guilty at trying to wrest him from his pleasant state; after all, what did reality offer? Nothing but pain and terror and more pain... But he tried anyway, though none of this efforts had the desired effect: whatever kept Dean from waking seemed to hold fast and strong to his mind. Arnulfsen could offer nothing helpful, all he could tell them was that Dean was healing well, that his mind was active, but that somehow he resisted breaking out of his REM cycle to rejoin the living.

It was Bobby's turn to catch some sleep. Sam sat, shifting stiffly in the unyielding vinyl upholstery of his chair. In the quiet darkness of night, he felt terribly alone, with only the hums and whispers of the monitors to keep him company. It was nothing new to Sam, he was always there when circumstance put Dean in this state, and he always made sure that his was the first face his brother saw when he awoke in a strange, institutional green room, filled with the unhappily familiar odours of Dettol and latex, bleached linen and collective misery. Sam shuddered. Hospital smells...they made him want to gag. "Come on man, open your eyes...please. Aw Dean, wake up! Come on, Bobby and me, all these hot nurses; we're all waiting here for you. If you don't, I'll paint the Impala red, I swear I will. "

But the threat had no effect, Dean didn't stir.

"I feel stupid talking out loud like this." Sam groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "Please, Dean...say something back."

There was no change in Dean's face, no quickening of his breathing, nothing at all that would give Sam hope that his words were understood. He sighed dejectedly and sat back in his hard vinyl chair, stretching to alleviate his weary stiffness. He looked up as Bobby entered.

"Anything?" the elder hunter asked.

Sam shook his head. Bobby had nothing to add. He pulled up another chair and passed a cup of coffee over, which Sam accepted gratefully. They both sat, sipping the hot, bitter contents in grim silence. Neither had anything positive to say; best to stay quiet. The familiar Dr. Arnulfsen came in, writing the latest observations in his notes. He nodded to the vigilant company, and went about his usual tests. When none of them produced results, he sighed and sat beside them.

"How are you gentlemen holding up?" he asked pointlessly.

Bobby answered. "We're ok. We'll be here as long as it takes."

Arnulfsen nodded. There was nothing he could provide now. Dean had his circle of watchers; if they couldn't break through, it was up to higher powers.

* * *

At the end of a long and fruitless stretch of reading and encouraging and beseeching, Bobby threw up his hands. "For god's sakes!" he burst out. "We're wasting our bloody time! We are no closer to breaking through here than nearly a week ago!"

Sam stared at him, shocked at his apparent defeat. "What else are we supposed to do here, Bobby? I read to him, I talk to him, christ, I cry and beg and..." He stopped and had to control his frustrated emotions. "I don't know what else to say anymore, nothing I say is enough!"

Bobby shook his head. His own angry frustration boiled over then and he lamented, "I know, boy. I done all that myself. That Doc can't explain what the barrier is, but I know what I've seen this whole week; he's full-on dreaming, and if god ain't my witness he's smiling more now than I've seen him do in years. Whatever is in it must be a helluva lot more pleasing than coming back to this miserable, god-forsaken place!"

Sam wilted. It seemed to him that Bobby was about to give up, and he could hardly keep going himself without his support. There was no arguing with his words; life for all of them had become brutal and uncompromising. He stared at the ceiling for a while, then spoke. The words caught in his throat, it hurt to say them out loud. "Bobby...if he's happier where he is, or where his mind is, right now, we'd be monsters to drag him kicking and screaming away from it."

Bobby focused his tired, rheumy eyes on the younger man. "Yeah, I hear you. Christ, we should all be so lucky." He sighed, deeply unhappy. The thought had crossed his mind as well. "But it ain't reality, Sam. No matter how sweet his dream life is, it won't keep up. Dreams can turn on a dime and become nightmares, we all know that."

Sam stared at the floor now. "Well so can real life. And this living world really is a nightmare, at least right now. He deserves to be somewhere that he can be happy. I don't know...maybe we're looking at it wrong."

Bobby had no answer to that. The truth of it echoed loudly through the silence that settled over them.

* * *

Another fruitless day passed, and both were at the limit of their thinly stretched hope. Sam was at his post, sitting beside Dean, still talking, reading, cajoling. He glanced up, dull-eyed and tired, as Bobby walked in, after having taken some time to sleep back at his own home. Bobby had had limited success in that, and when he'd exhausted every sleeping position, he'd settled for a quick, refreshing shower and headed back to suggest that Sam do the same.

"No...I'm ok, Bobby. I can stay longer."

Bobby stood up. "Sam, quit being a god-damned martyr! I can't sleep a bloody wink any way, so you might as well take the opportunity to go recharge. You look like hell, you know that? Dean would be right pissed if he saw you now, and he'd blame me. So do us both a favour, and get to a bed. I'm here, I'm on it. I'll call you, as always, if there's a change."

Sam finally decided to obey. He got up stiffly, patted Bobby's hunched shoulders and headed toward the door.

Bobby turned to admonish, "I don't wanna see your baggy face in here for at least five or six hours, you hear, boy?"

Sam smiled wearily. "Yes sir. Thanks." And he left.

When he was finally alone, Bobby sighed with relief. His plan was dangerous, he didn't know what side-effects this sort of experiment could have. The boys had done it for him before, and he wasn't about to subject Sam to the risk again. He turned to Dean. "Any chance you'll snap out of it in the next few minutes..?" he asked, expecting no answer.

Dean, as always, remained peacefully mute.

"Well alright then. You forced my hand, Sleeping Beauty. And this nearly bankrupted me, I hope you know." He unwrapped a precious quantity of unappetizing looking dried material. He measured out a small amount into a plastic cup, and leaned forward to pluck a couple of hairs from Dean as he slept, grimacing at the thought of consuming them. He added them to the other ingredients. Satisfied, he got up and headed toward the cafeteria in search of some hot tea-water. He knew what to expect, Dean had given him a run-down of the experience. Sam had voiced the very thing that had kept Bobby up last night. If Dean was really experiencing something fine and good, he had to see for himself. Only then could he decide if it was even right to somehow tear him from that and thrust him back into the fray.

* * *

When the bitter tea began to work, he found himself in a back yard. Stealth was paramount, and he ducked behind a bank of hydrangeas, scanning the scene until he was sure no one had seen him. He took in the view, marvelling at the romantic perfection of it. The lawn was a lush, emerald green. Perennial gardens ringed it, thick with fragrant azaleas and other plantings. But it was the roses that impressed most of all. They grew in small, blush pink clusters, unruly and almost wild. The air was scented with their perfume, they had the spicy, old fashioned scent that the hybrids of today had lost. The foliage was glossy, the canes, heavy with blossoms, hung in long, gentle arcs over the grass. He glanced at the back of a small, tidy, white frame house. An old cape...he recognized it from Dean's descriptions some time ago. Rose Cottage, it was called...willed to the brothers after an unusual experience solving a haunting. It was idyllic.

His attention returned to the task at hand, and he watched a familiar figure exit the rear of the house. It was Dean, only...different. A young man joined him, lanky and dark-haired. Dean appeared to be discussing the lawnmower with the boy, and he was showing him something regarding it's workings. Bobby crept closer, hoping to hear. He stopped when another person came out. It was a woman, slim, with a pleasant face. She said something to the both of them, and he heard her teasing laughter. He watched, rapt, as Dean picked her up and threatened to drop her in a little reflecting pond that was in the centre of the yard. He retreated then, for fear of interrupting their moment.

_So this is it- _he thought, as he snuck out to the road and walked away from the house to gather his thoughts. It was just as he'd heard. The old house, in Nova Scotia, with the stone lamb in the garden. A view of the harbour. The massive, ancient horse-chestnut in the front yard, branches hanging with spiky, ripening pods...the roses growing over the small porch roof.. Old trees edged the roadside, their branches met overhead, like friendly hands reaching out towards each other. He looked back at the house from his vantage point. The car, the ubiquitous Impala, sat there in the driveway. It shone in the warm sunshine, ringed by wet and sudsy pavement that told him it had just been washed.

_Jesus_. No wonder he didn't want to come back.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

It was perfect. And he was happy, more so than he ever thought he could be. His home, his wife, his son. He was a lucky man, who couldn't ask for anything finer. There was just the one small thing. It was a feeling, really, nothing more. Sometimes, in the quiet, he would have a sense that he was in a film, that somehow, there was a little artifical quality to his world. The sense of it was rare, but it had been coming to him more often lately. It unsettled him when it did; he couldn't put his finger on it. It was almost a restlessness, and he feared it._ It's just in my head_, he'd admonish himself._ Mid-life-crisis crap_. But the feeling wouldn't go away, and when it plagued him, he would throw himself into some physical task, to purge it from his mind. He'd even thought of calling Sam, out in Seattle, but he always stopped himself. For one, he didn't want to look like an emotional basketcase to his brother. And he was even more afraid that Sam would say something that could add validity to the feeling. _Let sleeping dogs lie_, he thought. _Don't be stupid_.

And he could have gone on like that. He could have fooled himself forever; it was worth it. But there came the unhappy day when there was no turning back.

He was out in the yard. He had the damned mower on saw horses, Daniel had hit a rock with it the other day, and the blade was hopelessly bent. He cursed the rusty nut that held it on, and finally he had to spray the works with oil until it could loosen. As he stood waiting impatiently for it to work, he was struck by the familiar and unwelcome feeling. The sun shone warmly on his face as he looked up, trying to convince himself that it was nothing. It persisted, and he frowned, surveying his beautiful and simple realm._ Damn. Quit over-thinking everything and just be thankful, Winchester, you jack-ass_. As he looked over the bushes edging the garden, he caught sight of movement. It had been years since he'd had to rely on them, but his instincts were still honed sharp from his hunter years. Something hid there, he was sure of it. Still a practised observer, he whistled nonchalantly, fiddling with the mower while watching out of the corner of his eye. It was too large for anything like a rabbit or cat. It moved again, stealthily, in a way that a deer or other animal never would. He carefully picked up his largest wrench, all the while appearing unconcerned. When he was sure he was right, he looked around to make sure Maggie was inside, then stalked toward the place. "Come out! Show yourself!"

The figure behind the greenery hesitated, and Dean repeated the demand, with more profanity. There was no avoiding the confrontation. A man stood up reluctantly, and stepped out into the sunshine.

Dean blanched and dropped the wrench, retreating in shock. "You!"

Bobby held out a hand. "Dean, let me explain-"

Dean stared like he was seeing a ghost. It was no wonder, because he thought he was. "No! No, you are not here! What the hell are you? I buried you four years ago, you sonofabitch! I sweated your eulogy!" He crouched, snapped up the wrench and held it up, wishing to god it was a gun or a knife.

Bobby stepped carefully toward him, holding his hands outstretched in a gesture of peace. "Please, Dean, you don't understand, none of this is what you think-"

Dean waved the wrench at him and backed away. "You're a shapeshifter, or some other damned thing!" He glanced wildly at his house, fearing his family was in jeopardy. "You stay away from us, you evil piece of shit! I swear to god I'll crack your head wide open!"

Bobby dropped his hands. "What do you need to be convinced?" he asked.

It threw Dean for a moment. "Convinced? Of what? That my old friend is back from the dead?"

Bobby swore. "Look, say any latin you know, douse me with holy water, pour salt on my head, whatever you like. But hear me out after, that's all I ask."

Dean turned back again to check the safety of his home and his loved ones. Without letting go of his wrench, he nodded toward the small shingled building at the edge of the yard. "Head to the barn. I'll follow you. And don't even think of trying any shit!"

Bobby did so. Dean stayed behind him, tense and ready for any deviation. When they reached the privacy of the small out building, Dean curtly told his visitor to find a seat on something. Bobby looked around, and sat on an upturned clay planter that was pushed against the wall. He waited patiently as Dean snatched a pitchfork from where it was hanging and levelled the makeshift weapon at him.

"Who or what are you?" he demanded.

Bobby sighed. "I'm Bobby Singer, you idiot. The year is 2009, and you and I and Sam are in the hospital nearest to my house. You're hurt pretty bad. A lot of things have happened, and it put you in this state."

Dean snorted. His heart raced though, he had a feeling he was about to hear some things that he really didn't want to know. "Oh yeah? And what state is that?"

Bobby met his eyes. "You were cut, by a demon bitch named Ruby. Do you remember? Your brother and Castiel beat her. They finished her, thank god. I drove you to hospital, but you were bleeding out, and by the time we got back to you, you were in a coma state. We can't wake you. Dean, Sam is devastated. He needs you now, more than ever. His demon blood is strong, he used his powers to save you and kill that bitch. But he's rudderless without your strength. The shit is hitting the fan, and we all need you.."

Dean blinked. His hand dropped a little. "No.." he said. "That was a long time ago, a lifetime ago! I left all that crap behind-"

Bobby hated doing this. He never even had the chance to make a decision about whether to drag Dean from his mental sanctuary; his discovery by Dean had precluded it. But the reality was that Dean _had_ seen him, and now there was no turning back. He turned his unhappy gaze toward him.

"I'm sorry. I am _so_ god-damned sorry to bring this on you now, boy. But this life you have here; it's a beautiful dream. And you deserve it, more than any sorry sonofabitch I know. But it ain't real. You must know that, on some level..."

Dean shook his head, shocked that this man, or whatever he was, had echoed his deeply held fear. He felt sick, and when he found his voice, he demanded, "Prove to me you are who you say you are."

Bobby reached into his pocket. The hospital had given something for safe-keeping. He held it out to Dean, it dangled from it's cord, miserably familiar.

Dean put a hand to his throat automatically. His amulet. He wasn't wearing it. It was a profoundly significant omission. He understood then, that it really was Bobby Singer sitting here. And his fears were realized...it was just as he'd felt, in those quiet moments, when he tried to convince himself that he was being an idiot. His perfect life was, somehow, nothing but illusion. "Bobby...it's really you?"

Bobby nodded, apologetically. "In the flesh, sorta."

The pitchfork fell from his nerveless hand, and he stared at his old friend. He was torn between wanting to embrace him, and wanting even more to run from him.

Bobby could see the emotions battle within him, it was etched deeply in his taut features. He spoke quietly."I am truly sorry, Dean. I didn't want to have to do this. What you have going here is something fine, and someday maybe, it will be this way. But not today, son. It isn't time. The troubles are on us now; they're far from over, and your brother is in the middle of it. He's distraught and lost and hurting without you. Please, Dean...don't hate me for dragging you back from this, but I got no choice. And you must know, deep down, that you need to come back to the real world..."

"The real world." Dean echoed, dazed. That ugly, harsh and painful place. He shook his head. "Well this is real, at least to me. And Sam is here; he's out west, he has a practice out there. He's got two little girls... Why would I change this for what's happening back there?"

Bobby found his own words hollow, and it broke his heart to say them. "Because back there it's real. It's miserable, it's hard, but it's real. And _this_-" he gestured around him, "This is fantasy. I don't blame you for taking refuge in it, boy. I'd have done it myself. But you gotta know it can't last. It'll fade, or break, like any dream, and when you wake up, there'll be nothing left. You'll have lost Sam, to his fear, to his weakness. They'll take him, Dean; the bad guys. They'll make him one of their own."

Dean knew that every word was true. He felt it, but he didn't want to believe any of it. "Aw no.._.no_. Don't do this to me, Bobby, I'm begging you! You don't know how perfect this is now; I can't even begin to tell you..." He sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. "It was all behind me... It was over, things are good. Maggie is my wife, she's been with me for over twenty years. I've got a good kid, a son... I built a life here, can't you see that? There's no devil, no demons, no pain! You of all people should understand that."

Bobby's heart felt like shards of glass. He came forward and gently hugged him. He could feel the strain in Dean as he swore a quiet litany and fought to contain his grief. "I know, son.." he whispered. "I know."

* * *

Bobby left him. He'd done what he had to, and it was up to Dean now to make his choice. He awoke in the hospital room. He took a breath and turned to look at Dean, watching his face as he slept. The slight smile that had been a constant feature there before was gone. Tears made wet tracks from his eyes, across his temples, disappearing into his hair. Bobby swore. Never had he hated the world more than at that moment. He couldn't look at the misery he'd brought, and he rose, and quietly left the room.

* * *

Bobby sat outside, alone, thankfully. He'd found the little garden that hospital volunteers had built, a place for the bereaved, or nearly so, to find some sort of peace. He sat stiffly on the cold metal bench, ignoring the nodding flowers, the swaying branches of the ornamental shrubs. It wasn't working. He couldn't stave it off, and he gave in to his anger. His hands balled into tight fists, he tearfully and silently railed at god for his poor stewardship of everything lately, especially Dean Winchester's life. He was strangling with fury and frustration, and guilt. He turned his face up to the sky and tearfully demanded an explanation, but predictably, none came.

Finally he'd spent enough of his emotion. In a final act of bitter anger, he stared at a sunny yellow chrysanthemum that grew beside his seat. He ripped the fluffy head off its stem and flung it against the cobbled walkway. He got up, wiped angrily at his eyes and ground the flower under his heel until his sight was blurred again and the blossom was nothing but a smear against the stones.

* * *

Bobby retrurned to the bland waiting lounge. He fumbled in his pockets, retrieving a handful of change and inserting the coins into the coffee machine. Another of the ashen, luke-warm comforts poured into the waiting styrofoam cup, and he took it out when it was ready, grimacing at the thought of consuming it. A hand reached out and gently claimed it, replacing it with something far more palatable from a local coffee shop. Bobby looked up at his benefactor. "Thought I told you to stay down for a few hours!" he growled.

Sam smiled wearily, pouring the vending machine swill into a nearby potted ficus. "I did. Four hours is close enough. I woke up after that, and figured you might need a break. By the looks of you, I was just in time."

Bobby stared at his cup. He sat, drooped-shouldered in defeat. Sam sat beside him.

"So...anything new?"

Bobby looked up at him then. The raw pain in his face caused Sam's heart to skip. "What? Bobby, what is it, is he-"

"No. Nothing's different." Bobby rotated the cup in silence, hardly aware that it was in his hands.

Sam remained tense. "Tell me what's on your mind then-"

Bobby sighed and stared off into the distance. Finally he spoke. "Sam...I think I just did the worst god-damned thing I ever done."

Sam didn't know what to make of that statement, other than to fear it. "I don't know what you mean, Bobby...talk to me."

Bobby remained silent. After a moment, he described what he's seen and experienced through the use of the dream root. When he was finished, he stared again at his untouched coffee, turning it slowly and methodically in his hands. Sam listened quietly.

"Sam, I think I made a big mistake...I think I ruined his one way to be happy."

Sam sat in stunned silence. A dream world...one filled with contentment, devoid of supernatural horror... He sighed heavily. "Bobby, I know how you must feel. Christ, I hate that it was you that had to do it. But you were right, this place he's been existing in, this mental paradise...it isn't real, and it wouldn't last. As much as either of us wishes it could stay that way for him, we both know it would go south eventually. You made a painful, difficult decision, but I think it was necessary to bring him back . If we're ever going to be able to push on after this, it's because you did this hard, hard thing. ..I have to thank you, Bobby. I know how you must feel, and you took that on anyway. I owe you...again."

Bobby nodded, without looking up. His voice was barely audible. "I feel like shit, Sam. I feel like a bloody banker foreclosing on the family farm. All his hopes and dreams are trampled, and it was my god-damned boots doing it. Mine..."

Sam had no words for him. All he could do was put a hand on the older man's shoulder and pray that this miserable thing worked.

* * *

The awareness was poison, and Dean knew it. The moment he'd accepted that this wonderful place, this perfect life, was a dreamscape, it began to erode. He looked around himself desperately, and he could see the encroaching formlessness at the edges as the illusion failed. _No...not yet...not yet!_ He got up and ran to the house.

Maggie was in the kitchen. She looked up from her apple-peeling quizzically. "That was a while! What did Danny hit with that thing, for heaven's sake, a boulder, or-"

He didn't let her finish. He scooped her into his arms and hugged her to himself, so tightly that she protested. "Easy there, Winchester; you'll snap me in half!"

He held on, feeling the warmth of her, the yielding. His wife, Maggie Williams Winchester. Her scent now, of raw apple and lavender soap... He buried his face in her grey-shot auburn hair.

She felt the intensity of his grip. "Dean, what is it?" she whispered fearfully.

He didn't answer, he couldn't. He sobbed once, a broken sound, and she heard it and hugged him back harder.

It faded then, his beautiful, flawless life. It melted to nothingness. All he'd understood, for twenty years, everything that he's centred his life on, was gone, disappearing like mist burned off by a harsh morning sun. He stood, empty-handed and alone, in a shapeless, colourless wasteland.

* * *

When he came to, he was without his watchful company. He stared around the unfamiliar room, trying to understand where he was, and why. His senses were dazed, it took some time before he put the puzzle pieces back in place and remembered. _Ruby...and ._.. He wondered just how the hell he ended up here, instead of going into the light, which had seemed to be beckoning him, in his final memory. Panic gripped him; he tried to recall where Sam was, and he remembered that he was safe at Bobby's. At least there was that.. But his last conscious recollection was shuddering with cold and feeling the wall of blackness wrap around him, and his hands finally releasing from the wheel.

She had him. The demon whore; she'd won, or so it seemed at the time. But apparently someone had intervened. He was too drained to apply any more thought to it, sure that he'd never felt so tired in his life. He tried to raise a hand, but gravity had strengthened tenfold, and even breathing was a conscious effort against it. He managed to get his wrist in view, focusing on the bandaged stitches there. _Nice_. That'll be an embarrassing scar. He knew what people would think when they saw it. His right was wrapped in a formed plastic splint. He flexed his fingers, and his left hand responded. The right was sluggish, but so was his thinking at the moment. _Hospital_. I'm in a hospital. He frowned, hating the all too familiar and frequent venue. But he figured it was better than a morgue. He rubbed his eyes and grimaced. His teeth felt fuzzy, he wanted to find a can asap. Since no one seemed to be around, he pressed the buzzer.

* * *

It brought attention, and quickly. A matronly nurse hurried in, and she stood in momentary shock, staring at his green, wide-open eyes. "Oh my goodness! You're awake!"

He thought she was a bit of an idiot. "Yeah...uh, look, I could use a hand getting to a bathroom. And I need to get a hold of my brother."

She ignored him and checked his vitals. "Stay put, do not move! I'm getting Dr. Arnulfsen-"

He was about to voice an opinion on what she really should be doing, but she was already gone. "Crap." he muttered. He sat up partially, but had to grip the bed rail as vertigo swamped him. He'd been lying still for so long, the head rush at the altitude change was sudden and sickening. He leaned back onto his pillow, sweating and counting methodically until the feeling subsided and the curtain of hissing darkness lifted. When it did, he opened his eyes again, and was startled by a ring of astonished and concerned faces.

He looked at them crossly. "-What?"

Sam made a small, strangled sound, and suddenly Dean found himself engulfed in his brother's tight embrace. It seemed to go on for an embarrassingly long time, and he'd have pushed him off if he'd had an ounce of strength. But finally Sam let him go.

"Okaaay...what the hell was that for?"

Sam shook his head and laughed, but there were tears in his eyes. Bobby too seemed misty-eyed, and Dean realized his own hand was held in his mentor's tight grip. Annoyed, he pulled it free and stared from one to the other, demanding, "Ok, what is it now?"

* * *

It was Dr. Arnulfsen who filled him in. When he was done speaking, he proceeded with his medical checks while Dean absorbed the news.

"I was out for...how long?"

Bobby answered. "Ten days. You had us pretty near losing hope, boy! Don't you ever do that to us again!"

Dean blinked at him, and he turned to Sam. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. Bobby got you in here as fast as he could, but you nearly bled out, Dean. They weren't sure you'd ever wake up."

Dean saw the weariness in his brother's face. Bobby too, looked haggard. He scratched his hair with his left hand, feeling embarrassed and oddly guilty. "Well, shit, uh...sorry I scared you all then. All I remember is-"

He stopped talking. Bobby cast a nervous glance at Sam, who returned it in kind. Dean didn't speak for several moments. Memories of what he'd experienced while he was unconscious flooded to his mind, and he blanched to a new pallor. Anulfsen looked him over anxiously. "Are you alright? What are you feeling?"

_Grief. Loss. Betrayal._ He couldn't begin to put it into words, and he didn't want to. "Tired." he whispered. He turned away from them all and shut his eyes.

"Gentlemen, please wait in the lounge." Arnulfsen was brisk now, and he had tests, and questions that required privacy. His tone brooked no opposition. Bobby nodded and led Sam out, and they sat in the waiting room, tense and anxious.

* * *

"He went white-" Sam said.

Bobby put a steadying hand on his arm. "He's weak as a kitten, Sam. This is a shock to him, and we just need to thank the lord that we have him back. The doc will take care of him."

Sam nodded, distracted with worry, and they waited in silence for word. Bobby in particular, feared what was hitting Dean now. The look on the young man's face was telling.

* * *

When he'd checked him over thoroughly, and was satisfied, Arnulfsen sat back and addressed Dean.

"You beat the odds here, my friend. The general consensus regarding your future was grim. Now, I want to hear it from you that you won't waste all our efforts and try this again."

Dean was still reeling. He turned to the doc and whispered "What do you mean?"

Dr. Arnie leaned forward and grasped Dean's splinted right hand. "This. Your suicide attempt, which was damned close to being successful. Now I don't know what series of events brought you in here, but unless you want to be shipped off for a period of psychiatric assessment, I want your word that you won't try this again."

Dean had to shake off his feelings for the moment. The threat of further hospitalization, especially where he'd be required to discuss feelings with some clueless set of shrinks, was enough of a distraction. "No, trust me, I'm not going through this again!" He said it with vehemence, his meaning entirely different than what Dr. Arnulfsen took it to be, but the doc was relieved.

"Good. That's issue one. Now, you're not getting out of here without some counselling, I'll warn you right off. I may have your word that you won't try again, but you need to deal with the factors that caused you to act in this desperate way. If you don't, you'll just be putting the monster in the closet and it will come back out again to haunt you. In the next few days, I'm going to set up some visits with our resident psychiatrist. Her name is Dr. Sarah Gardiner. She's very easy to talk to, and she'll help you get things sorted out."

Dean wanted to tell him to go # $% himself, and have his smarmy shrink sort_ that_ out. But he knew enough to play the game, and he quietly agreed.

Arnulfsen smiled efficiently. _Another box ticked off_. "Excellent.. Now, you have a couple of loyal watchers waiting for you out there. Your brother and uncle have been with you every minute you were in here, so remember that, if you ever feel alone or unloved. Those two were fixtures beside your bed, the nurses were just about to adopt them. They're anxious to see you, can I let them in?"

Dean wanted to say no, leave me alone, but he knew it would bring the odious visit of the psychiatrist that much sooner. He sighed dejectedly and nodded. Alone for a few minutes, he tried to come to grips with his rapidly fading memory._ It was a dream...all just a dream_... And like any dream, it had a tenuous connection to reality, one that weakened with each waking moment. But the feelings remained; confusion, loss. He didn't want to see them now. He wanted to sit in his car, alone, and try to make some sense of it all. Instead, he pressed his head back against his pillow, and steeled himself for the big reveal.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Revealing his perfect alternate life was the last thing Dean wanted to do. He lay, waiting for them to return. He knew they were going to ask him questions, but he didn't want to share his private world. It was his and his alone, even as it faded from his own view. But they would want to know what had kept him from them for what had apparently been ten days. ..And Sam, being Sam, would press and press until he either blew up and told him to screw off, or was forced to describe it. And Bobby...

He remembered. Well, Bobby already knew, didn't he? Bobby was there, in the end, and his presence had slid the sharp edge of the wedge between Dean and his happy world. After that, it had fallen away like dead leaves. He didn't know how to deal with it yet. At the moment, he was angry; he resented that tragic intrusion and its effect. But he knew why he'd done it. And he could guess how. After ten long days of tense vigil, he'd have done the same. But it hurt anyway, and all he wanted was time to think.

Time was one thing that was always in short supply. Sam was first to open the door, and he was followed closely by Bobby. The doctor nodded to them and passed them, letting them have their moments alone with the patient. Sam pulled up his chair, automatically, as he'd done a hundred times before. Bobby remained standing, and he fidgeted with the zipper pull on his coat.

"So...how do you feel?" Sam asked gently.

"Like a pile of stale shit. But I guess I'm breathing, and in one piece, pretty much. Can't bitch too much, can I?" He looked to Bobby then, and the elder man turned his eyes away. "I hear some stuff went down after I got dropped off here-"

Sam filled him in on the details. Dean listened intently. _Ruby, gone- And Sam's powers-_ He wasn't sure how to react. It drove an icicle into his guts to think that Sam had channeled that filth, and to save him. And it had worked, he'd controlled it, unlike the scenario that the damned Trickster had conjured up before. He shook his head, in disbelief and dismay. "Jesus, Sammy..."

Sam nodded. "Ruby is gone, Dean. You were right You were right from the start, and it took... well it nearly took you away from me before I finally figured it out. Cas did everything he could to stop her, but it wasn't enough. And I knew then, that it was up to me. I was so freaking scared...after what happened at the roadside last time. But I controlled it, Dean. It was just the opposite from then, this time I was driving. And I did it, I fried her. She screamed and cursed, and there was glowing sulphur, and I saw her body flame, and twist and... It was horrible." He stopped and looked down then.

Dean watched him. He knew what that meant. Sam had spent more than just time with Ruby. He'd shared a bed with her. There was an intimacy between them, a connection that had threatened the very foundation of his own relationship with him. He'd trusted her. And when it came down to it, when it was a brutal choice between her, and his own brother, when it mattered most; he'd thought clearly. He'd done the right thing.

"Christ. Sorry, Sam. I mean that." And Dean did, on some level.

Sam looked up at him and smiled wanly. "Don't be. I needed to see the truth. I just wish it wasn't so god-damned close."

Dean snorted then. He raised a hand and looked at the bandage. "Well, Sammy. Looks like I got a tenth life. Apparently it takes a hell of a lot more to kill me than any of them figured. I have my posse around me. Maybe we have a snowball's chance after all."

Sam smiled. He needed to hear that positive outlook from Dean.

Dean cleared his throat then. "Listen, Sam...Mind if I have a couple minutes alone with Bobby? I need to plan a little, after I get outa here."

Sam nodded, relieved to be freed. "Sure Dean. Can I get anything for you..?"

"Get me a coffee. A huge one, loaded with sugar. I've been asleep for ten freaking days, I think a shot of caffeine would be good about now. And maybe find me a donut or something, I'm starving."

Sam smiled and headed off on his errand.

* * *

It left the two of them. Bobby raised his eyes and met Dean's. He couldn't take it any longer. "Say it. For christ's sake, just say it."

Dean turned toward the window, seeing nothing. "Say what, Bobby? I know it was a fantasy. I know it would have failed in the end. You did what you had to to bring me back. I'd have done the same for you."

Bobby slumped into a chair then. "Boy, I wanted more than anything to leave you there. If things were different here, if Sam weren't so god-damned pivotal-"

"It wasn't real. Bobby, as much as I wish it were, I know it was just a trick of my mind. It's already fading, far away. I know that this; here and now, is the reality, never mind how hard or ugly. Nothing we dream up can change that."

Bobby covered his eyes then. "It was real fine, Dean."

Dean's vision blurred. "Yeah. ..It was."

Silence reigned for some time.

"Dean..?"

He cut him off. "Bobby, I don't blame you. I really don't. Like I said; I'd have done the same. But this is where we are now. My little foray into a sweet little fairy tale is meaningless, considering. Sammy did something; he stepped up in a way that we fear, but we're grateful over. It kept us all breathing; me for sure. But it's a big can of worms, isn't it? It shoves a huge _Now What?_ in our face." He sighed wearily and rubbed his eyes. "For god's sake, I can hardly catch a freaking breath before there's something new to deal with."

Bobby sighed then. He knew that Dean meant everything he said. He also knew that Dean Winchester felt things deeply, more than he would ever admit, and more than he was even aware of himself. In that respect, he was just like his old man He turned the conversation to more practical things. "So you're with us now, thank the lord, for better or for worse. Now we gotta get you the hell outa this hospital before they figure out that your ID ain't kosher."

Dean snorted. "No shit. And there's some gung-ho shrink waiting in the wings to pick my sad little brain apart so she can heal me. I'd just as soon disappear before I have to spin some pathetic tale for her to plug into her thesis. I think I'd rather slit my wrists again than sit through that crap."

"Don't even joke, boy!"

Dean raised his splinted right wrist. He glanced at Bobby, and smiled wryly. "Don't worry, Bobby. I'd use my gun if I ever got to that point. Hell, you'd know it if I was tired of living; I'll paint a red and grey landscape on the wall behind me. I mean, what the hell is _this_ shit? High school cutter crap."

"What nearly killed you..."

"I guess. But it didn't, thanks to you. And the Impala. By the way, where is my car?"

Bobby grinned. "She's safe, don't worry. Front seat's a god-damned mess, but other than that..."

Dean relaxed visibly. "Good. At least something's going my way." He remained silent for a time. "So...how's Sam really doing, with all of this crap?"

Bobby thought for a moment. "He's ok, considering. Biggest thing for him was waiting for you to come through this. Now that you have, he'll have to spend some time figuring the rest of it out. That ain't no easy thing either. He rose to a new level to beat her. He don't know how to deal with that any more than we do."

Dean nodded. It made him intensely uncomfortable to think of Sam channeling the very thing he'd tried so hard to steer him away from. Even more so that it had saved his own hide. He directed the conversation to more practical things. "Well, whatever the hell happened, bottom line is we're here and she isn't. But I need to get out of here, Bobby. Make that happen, and soon!"

Bobby looked around and nodded. "You need to be walking-"

Dean frowned. Easier said than done. He'd already tried to raise himself from his bed; the vertigo nearly made his innards turn inside-out. "I can do that, I think. But I need to ease into it. Gimme a hand here-"

Bobby took his arm and helped raise him to sit at the bedside. Dean was sweating and pale, and panting with the effort.

"You ain't gonna hurl down my shirt, are you?" Bobby asked, half out of concern.

Dean swore, but he shook his head. "Don't plan to. But wait till the damned room stops turning." When it slowed, he took a deep breath. "I'm good. But we got a problem here...I'm connected-"

Bobby expertly pulled the IV tube from the back of Dean's hand.

"OW! Jesus, you butcher!" Dean snatched his hand back, rubbing it and casting a baleful look at his accomplice. "That wasn't even what I meant!" He didn't elaborate, however. If Bobby was that rough with the IV, he didn't want him anywhere near any other tubes. He turned his back and freed himself from his other hoses with a groan of relief. "Help me to the can. And I need some pants-"

* * *

Sam entered with his tray of treats, while his brother was in the bathroom. He glanced at Bobby, who nodded, and he put it aside. The scenario wasn't new to him, and he knew what to do. He pulled off his jacket and waited until Dean called for aid. Bobby had found Dean's jeans and tee-shirt bagged in a cupboard, along with his shoes. The shirt was too gory-looking to re-use without drawing attention, but the pants would have to do. The front of each leg was still darkly stained with blood, despite a laundering, and it was difficult to get them on him, but they managed. Sam drew his jacket around Dean's hospital-issue gown and zipped it, and the two of them got him back on his feet. They held him there while he swayed and cursed.

"You ok now?" Sam asked, feeling him steady a little.

"Yeah. Close enough. Just steer me in the right direction, but make it quick!"

The trio made their way as casually as they could to the nearest exit. Bobby glanced behind them, tensely watching for any sign that they'd drawn unwanted attention, but it seemed clear. By the time they got Dean to the car, he was stumbling with weakness. He was relieved at the sight of the Impala, and he laid his hand on her comforting bulk, and rested his head against it.

''aw baby-I missed you." he smiled, closing his eyes. He collapsed then, drained from his excursion. Sam caught him awkwardly, and stuffed him as gently as he could along the back seat. Bobby took the wheel, and they left the parking lot, heading back to the rough sanctuary of the elder hunter's home.

* * *

The rest of their little getaway was without incident. Bobby drove in grim silence, while Sam checked on the sleeping fugitive repeatedly. "He's out of it." he sighed. "God, he looks like crap, Bobby. I don't think I've ever seen him paler." He was beginning to regret springing him from the safety of the hospital, but he knew that the reasoning was sound. "You think he'll be ok..?"

"He'll be fine, quit your freaking hovering!" came a growling response from the back seat.

Bobby caught Sam's eye and smiled. Whatever the future held, at least Dean, however irrascible, was with them wholly again. And for the first time in nearly two weeks, Uncle Bobby felt his tension melt.

* * *

Rumsfeld stood his ground until Bobby stepped out of the Impala.

"It's me, you stupid cur!" he growled. But he ruffled the animal's ears and the dog fairly smiled. Sam exited and helped his brother out of the back seat. When he'd safely deposited him on one of Bobby's dusty sofas, he asked what he could get him. Dean closed his eyes for a moment.

"Bourbon. You knew that already. And something solid to eat. I don't care if it's a skunk you ran over on the way here, just throw it on a plate and give me a fork and some ketchup."

Affronted, Bobby assured him that he had better fare to offer. He went about fixing something for Dean, as Rumsfeld stayed glued to his ankles, begging for his share. The brothers could hear their old friend whistling as he put it together, and the dog's plaintive whining and chomping noises as he tossed tidbits to him. It was a welcome sound; when Bobby Singer had interaction with the Winchesters, it was rarely a light-hearted occasion. Sam caught Dean's eye and both smirked at the Norman Rockwell feel of it. Uncle Bobby in his home turf, making sandwiches and talking to his dog...

They weren't exactly bistro fare, but his efforts brought a grunt of appreciation. And washed down with bourbon, it was ambrosia. Dean leaned back on the couch, sated and warmed.

"Better?" Bobby demanded.

"Yeah, much. Thanks." Dean stretched out on the sofa and reached for an afghan that was draped over the back. He pulled it over himself, and wriggled against the lumpy cushions until he found relative comfort. He realized that all eyes were still trained on him. "What?"

Sam slumped in his seat. "Dean, I... we're just so glad you're back." he said. He dropped his gaze at that, embarrassed.

Dean looked from his brother to Bobby, who stood in the wings. Bobby had a shine to his eyes.

Dean smiled. "Jesus, I'd have thought the two of you would have been celebrating without my weight hanging around your necks." He said it in jest, but his choice of words echoed what Sam had said so long ago before their roadside drama. Sam caught his eye, and Dean could see the raw remorse there. He instantly regretted it. He steered away from flippancy and became serious. "Well, to tell you the truth, I'm glad to be back. And I'm sure glad that Ruby-the-Demon-skank is back where she belongs. I was getting tired of hitting her brick walls." He _didn't_ regret that.

Bobby was relieved to hear it. The guilt he felt after ruining Dean's happy dream world had been suffocating. Seeing him here, now, in the present, and embracing his current world, such as it was;...well, it was a salve. The elder hunter raised his own glass to toast. "Well here's to bloody life then. It may hurt, it may cause us nothing but grief, it may be misery, and it... what the hell was I saying here?"

Sam filled in the rest. "Family. Here's to that."

That would do. The raised their glasses and downed the contents. Dean immediately held his out for a refill, and Bobby poured each full again. He did so many times that night, until nothing they said was topical or relevant, or even barely understandable anymore. It was exactly what they all needed. Under normal circumstances, Dean Winchester could drink either of them under the table. But it was a bit different this time, with his weakness and ongoing recovery, and the three of them reached that point of realization at the same time.

Bobby stood up shakily. "Christ, boys; I'm done. It's been a while since I drank that much poison, my poor old liver is screamin'. He headed toward the stairs, but he paused, weaving, and turned. "Dean...I... Boy, as the good lord is my witness, this is all gonna work out. I swear it, to you, and to Sam here, and to the ghost of that SOB John Winchester. You_ will_ see that life I tore you from...if it's the last friggin' thing I do on this cruddy world, I'll make sure of it!" He stumbled up the steps and disappeared into his room.

Dean looked down. He knew what Bobby meant, and he knew now, more than ever, how deeply and badly his friend felt about what had happened. He sighed in a drunken defeat and looked up at his brother. "You're not gonna cry now too, are you?"

Sam's eyes betrayed his emotions. He swiped at them and drained his glass. "I could cry for weeks. But I won't, because I know it pisses you off. But Dean-" He couldn't continue.

Dean stared at him. At any other time, he'd have relieved his brother, but not now, not this time. "But Dean what-? What are you trying to say to me, Sammy? Go ahead...I'm not stopping you."

Sam swallowed hard. He took a breath and leaned back against the sofa back, sitting beside his brother. He took a few moments to find the words to begin.

"Ok. I'm freakin drunk, so you've got to give me a mulligan on most of how this comes out, ok? " He shifted on the seat and waded in. "And you have to shut up until I'm done. That's all I ask."

Dean was well-loaded himself, but he nodded.

Sam started then. He began a soliloquy of self loathing and guilt. He vented about the roadside incident, about how he was commandeered and directed by the Trickster, but how his own emotions had dovetailed into it all to facilitate it. He talked about the scene in the barn, where Lilith had done her terrible damage, and how responsible he felt for Dean's pain. ...How he felt when Dean had been healed by Castiel... He told him about his mindset when it had all come to a head, and Ruby had done her worst to all of them, in the scrub in Georgia. How he'd felt when he'd taken Dean's gun and held it to his own temple...

And how it felt when he'd turned his own power on her. He'd welcomed the demonic strength coursing through him, and felt it's call, it's beckoning. He described it as well as he could, and told how he used it, channeled it toward an ultimately good purpose. And how he felt as he watched the terrifying effect of his efforts twist and burn her as she screamed until she was ashes. When he was finished, he was lost, and he looked to Dean to define it all, as much as he sought forgiveness.

At that moment, Dean could offer neither.

Dean heard him out. He felt for him, on many levels, he really did. But at the moment, his own emotions were laid bare through his consumption of the high octane bourbon. And as much as he wanted to just let it all ride, he couldn't.

He sat in silence. Sam had ended his words, and the young man sat, expectant and exposed, waiting for his brother's answer to it all. Well, he had an answer all right.

Dean stared at him for some time. The silence settled around them like a toxic and suffocating mist. He was so tired, and way too impaired to deal with this now, but he had some powerful feelings, and they refused to stay clamped under the lid.

Finally he spoke. "So you're an idiot. That's old news. So you were taken in by a demon in hotpants...understandable. But we all saw this coming, Sam. Me, Bobby, Castiel...we tried to tell you how this was going to end. But you wouldn't listen. Everything that happened after the Siren thing could have been avoided, if you'd just stopped to think about what we were saying. Everything that I went though was a direct result of your god-damned arrogance. Our argument by the road would have been simply that, but because of your attitude, the trickster decided to step in and have his fun with us. With _me_. And even in the barn, while I was Lilith's hackeysack, you wouldn't stand down. I begged you to get Cas but you didn't. And what happened? She snapped me in half, Sam! I felt the bone in my back crunch against that beam, I _heard_ it! And I know it was all some bullshit alternate reality or something, and it doesn't mean shit now, but I still know how it felt to be a freaking cripple, Sam! I'll remember that feeling for the rest of my miserable life. And if you'd seen that bitch Ruby for what she was, I wouldn't have sat, frozen in my car with my life draining out of my wrists while she told me all about your intimate little conversations, and how she was your little confidante, and how she knew you would come back to her the second I was out of the picture. No, you knew better; it didn't matter what the hell I said or did, it was all just hot air to you. All you saw was your own freaking gilded statue, erected in your honour by the grateful legions, The Great Sam Winchester, Savior of Mankind. Did you ever take a second to look down at your feet, Sam? The dragon you were standing on, as if you were f~cking St. George himself; who's throat were you actually crushing? Was it Lucifer's, or was it _mine_?"

Sam was speechless. He stared at the floor in shock, for several moments. He wilted under his brother's words, but after a time, he rose in his own defense.

"Dean...I can't tell you any words that will fix all of this. But it wasn't only me...you have to know that! I have the weight of this freaking legacy crushing me every second of every day. I don't know what to think; with Mom's death, with the Demon, and the whole way this went down... I have to find some way to believe I'm not some poisonous freak that will bring the world to it's knees. But every day I was with you, you made me feel like I was nothing but some rotten fruit you were forced to carry in your pocket. I was stupid, I was naive, I would flounder without you. Well, it got to be too much. I knew I was more than just your problem, Dean. I knew I had value, with or without you. I know the difference between right and wrong, as much as you do, hell, maybe more. I never needed to have you point it out for me. And yeah, everybody except me was right about Ruby. But she did teach me, Dean. She did guide me. Christ, her efforts gave me the strength to finish her off in the end when even Castiel couldn't! And yeah, she had her own sick agenda, but she saw something in me that she wanted, that she valued. Damn it, Dean! I can't tell you how much I needed that!"

His voice broke, and he swore and looked away. But he wasn't finished.

"I wish to god I could undo everything that happened to you, or bring it all down on me instead, I swear I do. And I take responsibility for it, for Ruby, and for believing her, and for all the ugly things that happened. But you drove me to it, Dean. All I ever needed was for you to sit and talk to me like I was an equal. Not little Sammy, not your assignment from Dad.. Just your brother, and as someone who was as deep in this shit as you are. I just needed...christ, I don't know!" He wiped his eyes and sighed. " ..I needed to think that sometimes, what I said or did... or thought, actually mattered."

He was done then. There was nothing left to say, he got up and staggered away. He made his way upstairs without looking back.

* * *

Dean sat, alone, trying hard to keep the hot tears that blurred his vision from betraying him and sliding down his face. He was stung, and shocked and hurt, he'd never thought that his relationship with Sam could have been so badly misinterpreted as it apparently had been. He'd said a lot of things to him, out of anger, out of pain. To hear his brother's own anguished side was a sharp slap, and one he couldn't dismiss.

The silence of the dark livingroom became oppressive as he sat still, going over it all. He felt sick, and it was hard to breathe, his throat so tight with emotion that he was sure it was a miracle he didn't puke or suffocate. He sat in the gloom, rocking slightly, holding his arms tightly against his middle and swearing under his breath. Finally the tears would not be denied. They fell from his lashes unnoticed, as he absorbed and painfully felt his brother's words.

Finally, shivering with cold and exhaustion, he found the comforter that had been laid at one end of the sofa. He tugged it over himself. He curled up, and silently cried himself to sleep.

* * *

Bobby stood, frozen in the wings. He'd chosen his vantage point before, and had heard the entire bitter exchange. He knew it was coming, he'd counted on it. It was necessary, it was hard, and more than once he'd had to squelch the urge to intervene. When it seemed it was over, he silently crept back to his own bed. They'd said what needed to be said. For everyone's sake, he knew those boys had to clear the air; catharsis was necessary, and he knew from experience that the process was a painful thing. His heart was heavy, and he prayed that sleep would take him. Tomorrow was a new day. Tomorrow, things would be better.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Tomorrow came far too early for anyone's liking. Sam had tossed and turned all night, sweating what he'd said to Dean. _-I should have just heard him out, shoulda kept my mouth shut-_ Dean was so weak when they'd gotten him home that he was in danger of fainting anytime he was upright, and here he was, going after him, arguing with him, accusing him of...

He sighed in deep misery for the hundredth time, throwing an arm over his eyes as he lay on his back, wide awake. -_God, I'm an asshole. I'm a crappy brother, anyway. He's just been through hell on earth, and I threw it right back in his face..._When he couldn't take it anymore, he got up and found the bathroom, washing his face in cold water quietly, and then heading downstairs. He had to pass Dean on the way to the kitchen. The early morning light was cold and grey, and it highlighted the colourless complexion of his brother's face as he slept. His freckles stood out like the pox. But he was sleeping quietly, thank god...didn't seem to be experiencing anything that was either a terror or a sweet lure to some other, happier plane. He snored like he usually did when he was comfortable. Sam smiled slightly, and crept past him to the kitchen.

Rumsfeld, ever the opportunist; came down the stairs at the sound, nails clacking like castaneta on each wooden step. He found Sam rooting through the cupboards in search of ground coffee. Sam turned at his whine. "What do you want? Go see your pop."

The dog parked his behind resolutely on the linoleum and turned his head quizzically, trying to decipher any words that held meaning. Sam patted him and found the elusive can of grounds. He set the coffee brewing and sat down at the table. The clock read six forty-three. The hour was early, but it wasn't insanely so. He turned to the dog. "Ok then. What can I do for you?"

Rumsfeld looked to the cupboard over the stove and whined loudly. Sam followed his gaze, and rose to see what the request was. A big bag of kibble was stuffed into the space, and he pulled it out and filled the metal bowl on the floor to heaping. The dog immediately began scarfing the contents down, wagging in appreciation.

"Well at least I can please you." Sam muttered. As he waited impatiently and tiredly for the coffee to finish, he decided to see what Chez Bobby had to offer in the way of breakfast. The fridge showed some promise, with a couple of dozen brown eggs, and an unopened package of coarse bacon. He pulled those out and checked the freezer. There was bread there, looking a little freezer-burned, but he took it out and shook the ice from the plastic bag, and laid some slices out on the counter to thaw, ready for the toaster. He searched and found an old black frying pan, and got the bacon separated and frying. Dean loved bacon. He could eat it all day.

Apparently, so did the dog. As soon as the scent of the frying slices began to fill the kitchen, he abandoned the dry kibble and set to begging in front of the stove. Sam smiled and pushed him away with a foot. "So you have no discipline here, I take it."

Rumsfeld practiced his most plaintive expression, and turned to stare at the stove. Sam relented, and fished a small bit out for him. "There. Now get lost." The dog caught it mid air and smiled as he inhaled it. Sam shooed him out the doorway and looked up with surprise.

"Whoa! Shit, sorry, Dean, didn't mean to wake you!"

* * *

Dean leaned heavily against the door frame, hair tufted everywhere, and bleary eyed. "You didn't. Bacon did. I thought you were Bobby." He turned around and settled heavily on the couch again, rubbing his gritty eyes. Sam followed him hesitantly. As Dean reclined again, Sam took a chance and arranged the comforter over him.

"You should't get up, at least not without one of us there."

Dean grunted in response. "Lots of things I shouldn't do. Got coffee going?"

"Yeah. It's almost ready, sit still and I'll bring you a mug."

"Good." He fussed in annoyance against the itchy brace on his right wrist, and Sam left him to check on the cooking. Dean pulled the comforter up to his neck and turned to his side to wait. He was grumpy; the word didn't do the mood justice. He'd expected to be awakened post noon at the very least, and even if it was the bacon smell that did it, he still was hardly appreciative of being alert at this hour. It had nothing to do with anything, not the where, or the how, or the who; it was just his mood. He was comfortably drifting off again when Bobby came down the stairs.

"Am I in heaven?" he asked of Sam.

Sam snorted and put a cup of hot coffee in his hand. "I don't think so."

Bobby accepted the drink and sipped at it. "Your brother up yet?"

"Sorta."

Bobby glanced in the direction of the livingroom. "Mmm. Maybe he should stay sleeping for a while."

Dean's voice was muffled under the comforter, but he'd clearly heard. "Yeah, maybe he should!"

Bobby smiled wearily at the younger Winchester. "I think we've got our work cut out for us, keeping him civil. At least that's normal." He took the cup that Sam had filled and carried out to Dean, handing it to him. "Here, princess. Hand-delivered by your posse of obedient serfs."

Dean scowled, but he took the mug and cradled it gratefully, inhaling the steamy aroma with the profound appreciation of a full blown addict. Bobby could see the shake to his hands as he held the cup against his chest. He was far from healthy yet.

"You warm enough?"

Dean nodded, and took a deep draught. Bobby continued to stare at him hard. Dean looked up and caught him. "I'm fine. Seriously."

Bobby sat back. "What about those stitches? They healing up ok?"

Dean put his coffee down and turned his left wrist, examining the bristling row. He'd seen enough sutures to offer an expert opinion. "They're knitting up fine. Probably could pull'em in a couple of days". He lifted his braced right. "I guess this is ok too. It's not as stiff as before; I can move my fingers better." He picked up his mug again and drank from it. He glanced at Sam, still busy at the stove, then looked down in unhappy silence. "Sam and me...we had words last night."

Bobby nodded. "I know." he acknowledged simply. He stretched, and sighed, before wading in. "Where'd that leave you boys?"

Dean answered quietly. "I don't know. There's just..there's so much." He sighed and looked away. "I guess we've both got our issues. God, I sound like a chick having her monthly!"

Bobby swirled his coffee absentmindedly. He glanced again toward the kitchen and spoke quietly. "Hell, Dean...we've all got issues. Ain't a body alive that don't have a problem somehow with family. We just have to figure a way through the minefield, and keep going. I'm not gonna be the one to say it's all backseat to the Big Picture, cuz it ain't. What happens to us, between us, still matters. It's tied in, like everything. Nothing stands alone; not this thing between you two, not any of us. We're all in it together. Best we figure out how to forgive and move on. We need to focus on other things now, that's all."

Dean remained silent. He nodded slightly, finally. He laughed, a wry snort. "Too freaking early for this shit...what is it, six? Six thirty?"

Bobby turned around and checked the chime clock in the livingroom wall. He wound it religiously, and it was always accurate. "Seven-fifteen."

Dean pushed his mug onto the coffee table and lay back, closing his eyes. "Beautiful. Wake me up at noon."

Bobby drained his mug and got up. "Sorry, boy. Bacon's already done, and eggs are almost ready. Breakfast is served at Singer's Diner, and there ain't no second sitting. If you want in, you gotta be up." He left Dean and joined Sam in the kitchen.

* * *

Sam was just sliding the eggs onto plates. Bobby came in and silently gathered cutlery, hunting down three trays. He arranged them on the counter and Sam placed three filled plates onto them. "Toast is almost ready." he said.

Bobby nodded. "How you doing, Sam?"

Sam kept his gaze on the toaster. "Ok. I mean...you know, the usual."

Bobby pushed a tub of margarine toward him as the toast popped up. "No. It ain't the usual, Sam. I heard you two having words last night. There's a lot to resolve. Think you boys got any closer? or did you widen the gap?"

Sam found it hard to speak then. He spread the marg on the slices, not caring about how much he was slathering on. He just shook his head.

Bobby decided to wade in then. He put out a hand and stopped Sam from plastering the bread like he was mudding drywall, and looked him in the eye. "Boy; listen to me. I already spoke to Dean. I know you both have crap to work through, but I know people, and he's as miserable and guilty and down as you are. Don't shake your head, listen to me!"

Sam was forced to hear him out. He nodded, looking down.

"I know there's mistakes on both sides, and heavy consequences. Hell, your Dad is as guilty of steering this doomed ship as either of you, and more-so. But the bottom line is you're family. And Dean feels that as deeply as you do. So you both stated your cases last night. That was a good thing, as far as I can see; and long in coming. And you both have anger and guilt and hurt. Who doesn't? The thing about family, is that it overcomes that kind of thing. We cut loose friends and strangers for a helluva lot less, but with family, we keep trying. We find away across that shredded bridge. This has nothing to do with who we are, or what our fates might be. It has nothing to do with god, or the devil, or their cursed angels and demons. It has nothing to do with what's coming. It's just blood...you understand?"

Sam raised his head and looked at his old friend. "Yeah, Bobby. I do" He handed a filled tray to him, and balanced the remaining two in one hand. Catching Bobby's eye, he passed him and went out to the living room. Dean was sitting up, glowering at the world in general.

"Breakfast is ready. It'll be out on the verandah." He passed his brother, not waiting for an answer, and struggled through the door.

Dean got to his feet with a muffled curse. "Does he know how freaking cold it is out there?" he demanded of Bobby, as the older man found his chair and settled with his tray.

Bobby ignored him, stuffing a mouthful of bacon into his mouth with exaggerated reverence. "Damn good breakfast. Better get out there before it goes cold."

There were more choice epithets, but Dean hauled himself away from his comfortable warmth. He snatched an afghan and wrapped it around himself and followed the scent outside. He found his brother sitting on an '88 Ford Econoline vinyl bench seat that doubled as patio furniture in the Singer realm. He sat down beside him, having no other choice. "Alright. Feed me or lose me."

Sam handed him his tray. They ate in silence until the plates were clean. The sun was rising clear and fresh, and it warmed a little. Finally, Dean put his remaining dishes down on the porch floor for the dog to clean. He pulled the afghan around himself and leaned back.

"Thanks." he grunted.

"No prob. " Sam finished his own and added his to the dog's tasks. "How are you this morning?" he dared.

Dean snorted. "Perfect. As always." He was quiet for a while, but he continued. "Sam... Look, about all that shit last night-"

Sam interrupted. "Dean, man, I'm sorry. I had no right to say all that to you, I mean, for christ's sake, you just got out of the damned hospital, and-"

"Shut up. Just shut up for a minute, this is hard enough already." He sighed and gathered himself before continuing. "A lot of things went down lately. Some of it was going to happen anyway, and some of it we did ourselves. And most of it was ugly and... Look, all I'm saying, is that I don't blame you anymore than you blame me. Maybe I did, but I'm getting over it. Don't deny it now, you can't un-say the things you already said to me. And you were right, about a lot of it. I did treat you like a job Dad gave me, alot of times. I did treat you like a dumb kid that didn't need to be heard from.. It was arrogant and it was unfair. But I just want you to understand it a little more, ok? It doesn't matter what the hell Dad said, I'd have looked out for you the same way. Jesus, Sam, you're my brother. Dad was gone half the time, and sullen and bitter when he was around. You're all I ever had in this crappy world, and you never were a burden to me, no matter how things seemed. I'm just starting to see just how screwed up our upbringing was. I mean, Dad loved both of us, there's no question. But he drove us in ways he never, ever should have. And it made us who we are, good or bad. All those years, when we were just strange, lost kids at lousy new schools, I never once regretted looking out for you. It made me feel good. It gave me purpose. And maybe I laid it on a little thick over the years, about me being the leader, and me being in charge. But it wasn't because I thought you were less than me. I just wanted to keep you safe, and...happy, I guess. I can see how you would interpret that like you did. I don't blame you. And Ruby, well, she knew all that too, and she played right into it. I was too blind to see that coming. I was too full of myself to ever think that you were anything but appreciative of my overseeing. So...I guess I'm saying I'm sorry, Sam. That's about it."

Sam sat still. His eyes were brimming, and he tried desperately to keep them from spilling over. He found his own voice. "I know. I know, Dean. But to hear you say it is... God I hate everything right now! I hate being John and Mary Winchester's son. I hate this place, I hate god, and the devil. I don't know what the hell I'll be doing ten minutes from now; it feels like I've got strings tied to my limbs and there's a hundred other people and things jerking them. Nothing I do or think or try lately has any positive effect. That's why I took it out on you, I guess. Growing up, it felt like you were pulling all the strings, and only for my own good. But I just couldn't take any more, and when Ruby came along, it was like I was freed. She said and did things that made me feel real, and...important, and...strong. I know now how it was calculated, and all part of her plan. But after everything I learned about myself, and my history, and my destiny, I just...needed that."

Dean couldn't look at him. He was in danger of bawling himself, and it took all his resolve to keep from breaking down. He swore, and covered his eyes.

"Dean, I'll say it again...I am so, so sorry all this happened to you. And it isn't just words, I would take it all on in your place if I could. But I guess I can't. This is real, and none of it can be erased. But please...please believe me when I say I appreciate everything you do for me. I'll make it up someday, I swear."

Dean rubbed his own eyes. "You have nothing to make up. Just stay with me through this shit, ok? It's going to get ugly, and it's going to get harsh. Don't read anything into how I say stuff, or do things; it's never going to be because I think you're a pain in my ass, it's just my way. Just stay beside me. Sammy. It's all too huge and horrible. I can't do this on my own."

Sam leaned against him. "You got it." he whispered.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Bobby watched the exchange. He heard the words, heard the emotion. He said a silent prayer of thanks that they seemed to be mending their fences. The world was screwed up enough; he couldn't take the strife between those boys for much longer, not if he was going to keep faith. He retreated from his eavesdropping and returned to his favourite chair. After a time, the boys came in, shivering with the morning chill. Bobby got up and refilled a couple of mugs with hot coffee for them, handing them to them in silence. He didn't need to pry, and they didn't need to rehash.

Dean sat hunched over his, clinging to it like a drowning man. It occured to him, suddenly. "So what about Cas? I heard what happened, and where he asked to be left...do you think he's ok?"

Bobby and Sam exchanged looks. Neither was sure. "Dean, all I can say is we got him to where he wanted to be. He was beat up alright, but when we left him there, we saw a flash of warm light in the rearview. Can't say what it meant, but I have to think that was a good thing." Bobby stated.

Dean grunted, lost in worried thought. His experiences were as limited as any of them, but from the description, the Angel was in good hands. "What was the name of that graveyard?"

Sam answered. "St. Eustachius."

Dean looked up, and frowned, trying to remember. "Christ that sounds familiar. Sam, get me Dad's journal, will you?"

Sam did so, rooting around in their things. He handed it over, and Dean flipped through it quickly.

He found the reference. "Huh. Interesting."

"What?" Bobby demanded.

Dean showed him the note. "Nothing, really. Just interesting. Seems St. Eustachius is a patron saint."

"Of what?" Sam and Bobby asked in unison.

Dean smiled a little. "Hunters."

"Hunters and other hopeless causes." a new voice added.

They all turned, startled. Castiel stood there. He was a far cry from the bloody wreck that Sam and Bobby had left behind in the remains of the graveyard. Instead, he seemed renewed; the blood stains gone, the torn clothing restored to it's usual nondescript blandness. He radiated a simple but powerful goodness; the innocent idealism that was his defining quality.

"You're ok then?" Dean demanded. Since being apprised of the angel's last state, he'd been harbouring a deep worry ever since.

Castiel came forward and sat amongst them. "I am healed, yes. And I owe a debt to you two for working to find the place I needed; it was crucial to my survival."

Bobby harrumphed. "Well don't speak in damned riddles next time, and maybe it won't end up so close to the wire!"

Sam was relieved as well; they'd had no idea, other than witnessing a flash of what they could only hope was celestial light, if their friend had actually made it. Castiel turned to Dean. "You are well?"

Dean snorted. "Sure, Cas. I'm tops. Blue skies from here on."

Castiel ignored his tone, and pressed further. "I came to see you at your hospital, but you had already fled. There was much confusion over your absence; there were women there; nurses...who were upset."

Dean smiled. He always charmed them, they either wanted to bed him or adopt him. Or kill him... He looked at his stitched wrist. "Well, I'll be fine in a few days, Cas. Just tired now, nothing to complain about. And uh, thanks, by the way. I heard you had something to do with that."

"It was a combined effort." Castiel suddenly looked weary and sad, and he stared from one to another. "This was a long and difficult time, for all of us. We lost ground, but we gained as much. We removed one poison from our midst, but there are countless more waiting to step in and fulfil the prophesies. I came to see your progress, Dean. I'm pleased you are healing, and more so that you brothers are on better terms. Division means weakness. Weakness leads to failure. I know you have human concerns, mortal emotions; and I am trying to understand and accommodate that. But the seals are falling. Take the time you need now to regain your strength, Dean. But be ready; you will be called upon, both of you, and sooner than you think. I wish I could be here to protect you and fight with you, but I'm needed elsewhere; there are other seals, other battles waging now that require my presence." He reached out and touched each of their foreheads. "A blessing. A link to my own source of strength. I would share it fully if I could." With that, he vanished from their midst.

The silence that remained was a palpable void. Castiel's touch affected them all deeply. After a moment, Dean cleared his throat in discomfort. "Well. There you go. Blessed by an Angel-of-the-Lord, no less."

Sam sat still, frozen. He was lost in a feeling, deeply uncomfortable. He'd blanched; the touch Cas had delivered was meant to be a bolster from heaven, but it had felt like a sting, and the angel's gift was warring inside him with the other faction that lived in his blood. He could see that it had had a positive effect on the others, he knew it was meant to help, but he wanted to purge it from within himself right now. It felt foreign, and toxic. He shivered momentarily, and rose to his feet, stretching languidly to belie an ease that was contrary to his real feelings. "Well, I for one, am sure glad to know he's ok. He's a weird bastard, but any advantage is a good thing, I guess." He looked around, desperate for a distraction. "I'll grab the dishes and wash up."

* * *

When he was busy in the kitchen, Bobby turned to Dean. He kept his voice low. "Boy; we've got some things to discuss. But right now, I'm telling you; you keep your arse glued to a chair until I say you're ready to wander out into the world again. You put me through hell and back, watching you go through all this crap. I'm getting old, I can't take this much longer!"

Dean scratched his head, turning his eyes away guiltily. "Bobby,..man, I'm sorry. I forget how this shit can affect the people around me. But I didn't head into this cluster f~~k on purpose this time... it kinda just landed on me."

"I know. It has a way of doing that to you boys. But all I'm saying now is...listen to Cas's words. Just stay here, under the radar, for a little while. At least 'til you aren't in any danger of splitting your zippers again. He pretty much said you were a liability if you weren't strong; and all of us are, if we battle between us. Heal your body, heal you relationship with your brother. A lot depends on it."

Dean didn't know what to say then. Bobby was so damned direct, and intense sometimes. All he could do was nod. But he added his own parameters to it. "Fine. Fine, I'll stay here until you're a little less neurotic about me and everything. But only if we get the Impala on the lift and get some bearing work done. And she needs a tune-up, and an oil change, and I'm pretty sure she's pulling to the left-"

Bobby rolled his eyes, but inwardly he was grinning. He'd won, for once. "Yeah, I hear you. Free room and board, plus free mechanic. You know, you're bloody expensive to be acquainted with!"

* * *

They stayed a couple of weeks. It was an effort to pin Dean down; he was a constant flight risk. But Sam wasn't ready to rejoin the world. He was troubled and worried. He needed the normalcy of the stay at Uncle Bobby's. It had always been that way when they were kids. The times that Dad had been hurt, and they'd stayed here, until he was well enough to drag his sons to yet another god-forsaken locale. Bobby's dusty shambles of a house had always been safe haven.

Bobby had played his hand well. Dean had handed him the means when he'd demanded that they work on the car. Bobby invented mechanical problems, one after another, enough to keep the Impala up on the lift and off the road. Dean roared in frustration when each new "issue" was revealed. He needed to sit in his damned car and feel it's rumbling power through the seat. It soothed his soul to watch the dotted line flee beneath her wheels. But if it were so, it would have meant that he was free to go at will, and Bobby was determined to keep his wings clipped for at least enough time to see his wounds heal solidly. They'd pulled his stitches, discarded the wrist brace, but strength was slow in returning, and Bobby knew it. He knew what Dean Winchester was like when he was at his peak; he was a lion; belligerent and headstrong and brash. Bobby was far from convinced that he had reached that state, and he was loathe to send him out to be target-practice for Hell and its minions until he was fully ready. Not that anyone was ready for that...

And he was healing, physically at least. But there was one worrying trend Bobby had noticed. Once Dean had accepted that he was staying put until others decided otherwise, he'd grown steadily more quiet. And quiet was not a native state for Dean Winchester. Bobby had watched helplessly as he'd grown more and more withdrawn. He knew that sleep eluded him, he'd found him countless times downstairs, wide eyed, drinking, and staring at the television in the wee hours. It was always the same; some horror film dvd playing quietly on the screen, and a half finished bottle of scotch within reach. Most of the time he accepted Dean's explanations and he returned to his own bed to lie awake in worry. But finally he'd had enough.

He crept down the stairs, after yet another night of hearing the soft sounds from the livingroom television in the wee hours, trying to keep from waking the dog. He stood in his grimy striped robe and slippers in front of the tv, and leveled his tired old eyes at Dean. "Can't sleep..?"

Dean sighed, and swirled the whiskey in his glass for a moment. He was tired of making excuses. "Don't want to."

Bobby sat down in the nearest chair. He helped himself to a glass of the whisky before asking his next question. "How come?"

Dean was silent for so long that Bobby wasn't sure he'd heard his query. "Talk to me, boy. Is it nightmares?"

Dean sighed, rubbing his gritty eyes. "Nah. Nightmares are nothing, Bobby. I can deal with those. It's just-" He closed his eyes for a moment, and continued quietly. "It's the chance of dreaming. I'm afraid I'll see what I can't have. Yeah, I know I said it faded. And it kinda did, at least in a way that it felt whole. But I _do_ remember. I remember how it felt to hold my own wife tight against me...hearing her laugh, and tease me, and...and talking to my boy, about how to fix a bloody lawnmower. All that happy, picket fence, apple-pie normal shit... It cuts a hole through me just to think about it, Bobby. I don't think I can take dreaming more of that life. Not when I wake up to _this_." He swallowed his drink, and stared at the wall, his sight blurring.

Bobby had no wisdom to add. Sometimes he too, dreamed of a long-ago life with his wife, before it all happened, before he'd had to... It was too painful, and he'd wake up and lie awake for hours, alone, bereft and deeply depressed. He did wonder about something, though.

"Dean...the girl, the woman in your dream; she was a real charmer. She seemed, I dunno, solid, and real. Is she?"

Dean stared at his hands. "Real? Yeah. I met her, a while ago, on that hunt in Louisiana. The ghost that was killing off camp staff. We had a good thing, for a while..."

"I remember."

"Maggie. Her name's Maggie Williams. She...well, as you said, she's a charmer." He took a deep draught of his drink and fell silent.

"Ah." Bobby prodded a little further. "You ever talk to her? After it was over?"

Dean's expression hardened. "Nope."

Bobby understood what his friend wasn't saying. He obviously had feelings for her. And maybe they could have had something, but the complications of his life were squarely in the way. It was the same for all of them, maybe in the entire hunter community. Hunters were a twisted, screwed up lot; they fled what was good for them and they chased what clearly wasn't. He didn't pursue it. Instead, he focused on the tube. "What's this, then?"

"The latest Chucky outing. It's crap."

Bobby grunted in agreement. "Yeah. All they had to do was salt the bugger and burn him. Say some latin and bury the ashes, coulda ended this sorry tale two films ago."

Dean laughed quietly. "No shit. No money in that kind of resolution though. Just like Real life."

He couldn't argue with that. It struck Bobby then. "Dean, are you trying to induce nightmares, to keep from dreaming something else?"

He looked away guiltily. "I don't know. Maybe. Hollywood's falling short, though. All I end up doing is laughing."

Bobby snorted. "If those SOB's only knew what we did..."

"Then there'd be a nationwide epidemic of chronic insomnia. So far, luckily, they aren't even close." He rose with a groan. "Didn't mean to keep you up, Bobby. How 'bout we both go back and try to sleep some more before Julia Child's big ugly stepsister wakes up."

Bobby had no choice. He didn't know how to help Dean now. He couldn't offer any way to send the memories away. It had never worked for him.."Yeah. I guess that's best." He turned away toward the stairs, but paused. "I wish I could fix this, Dean. I saw how it was for you, in that house, with her... I know how it feels." He ascended the stairs and left Dean in the quiet of the livingroom. Dean switched the TV off. He rose, and made his way up to his bed.

* * *

When he'd settled, he spent an hour tossing and turning. He was contemplating heading back down to the blessed numbing of the television when he was startled again by the sudden appearance of Castiel. Dean sat on the edge of his bed, shivering and annoyed, and demanded, "Aw what the hell now, Cas?"

Castiel looked away to some distant place, and then turned to Dean. He spoke then, with his usual lack of preamble. "I know what your dream was."

It shocked Dean that the Angel was privy to something so close to his heart. "What do you mean you know? I never told you-"

Castiel wore a quiet, unfathomable expression. "I gave it to you."

Dean sat back, stunned. "You... Why? Jesus, Cas, why would you do that to me?"

Castiel sat down, ignoring the rumpled knot of coat under his backside. He clasped his hands loosely and smiled a little. "Your spirit needed mending, more than anything. You needed to experience the hope in your future. I know you don't believe you have one, and you are wrong. The world may be black now, and it will most likely get far worse. You may not survive to see the other side, perhaps none of us will. But the possibility exists that we will defeat the evil that we face. And if that is so, what will you do? Will you continue on in your bitter and painful path as a hunter until something takes you finally? Or will you embrace your new freedom and find a life for yourself..?"

Dean sat, open-mouthed. "Jesus freaking Christ! I don't know! Aw Cas, don't throw this kind of hypothetical crap at me, I can't take it!"

"The world, that life you experienced when you were sleeping; it wasn't falsehood, Dean."

Dean leaned forward intently. "Explain that, you sonofabitch!"

The angel sighed. _This would be complicated..._ " Dean, you were losing faith; not in God, or heaven, but in your own future. You needed to see that the struggle is worth it, that you are even more so, that there could be life after this. You need to know that you deserve a happy ending, and that it is possible. I found this place in your own mind. I extrapolated the story from your own wishes, your own memories. I know it was a violation of your personal space, as you call it, but it was necessary."

Dean blinked. "Necessary? _Necessary?_ How the hell could that ever be necessary? You think that giving me this little fairytale and then tearing it out of my hands was helpful? Oh, christ!" He fought the simultaneous urges to break down, or throttle him. "Aw, Cas...even Hell never dangled that in front of me!"

Cas blanched. "This was never meant to torment you-"

"Well it did!"

Castiel's eyes grew pained. He struggled to explain. "Dean, please...I'm not saying this right." He took a breath and tried again. "The experience you had, it wasn't fantasy. It wasn't reality. It was possibility, based on the truths that I found within you. The world as we know it right now will end, one way or another. We'll either be dead, or we'll live on, past this peril. If that's the case, you must know that your future isn't black and empty; it's whatever you make of it. Your life has been fraught with pain and sadness and hardship. If we win, if we come through the flames intact, you must know that from then on you are the master of your own fate. You must know that real happiness is within your grasp. Otherwise, what is the point? Consider it your prize, or your honorarium for your sacrifice. Dean...do you understand?"

He'd been so negative, his outlook so bleak for so long, that Dean hadn't considered any kind of future for himself, under current circumstances or in the unlikely event that he'd survive the tempest. He'd said as much to Sam when asked how he saw this thing ending. Bloody, he'd stated. And he'd meant it. Castiel's plaintive words now were hard to accept. He had nothing to say, and he turned away, blinking hard. Finally he whispered. "You have no idea how it feels to have something like that and have it torn away by waking up to this reality. You cruel sonofabitch..."

"No! Not cruel! I was, perhaps guilty of failing to see the depth of feeling you had. I was negligent in showing you something you barely knew you wanted yourself, and certainly never felt you could have. For these things I am profoundly sorry, Dean. I beg your forgiveness; the last thing I wanted was to cause you more pain. But think back, on that place, those people. They _can_ be part of your future. I know better than to doubt your dedication to the cause, I'm not trying to coerce you by offering false promises; you're already with me. I just want you to look beyond the black horizon, for your own good. God already has enough martyrs; you don't need to rush headlong against the legions of Lucifer, expecting nothing better than an ugly death. These past weeks, I've watched you travel through terror and pain, betrayal, and misery. I've tried to help you in these struggles, at least keep you from dying in them. But it's not enough. I've watched you grow more and more spiritless, I feel the heart of you turning to dust, and I can't stand by and let it happen. You need to see...you need to believe there's hope, not just for Sam, or the world, but for _you_."

Dean stared at him for several moments, and then dropped his head into his hands. .._.it was too much, it was all too much..._ He shook with suppressed emotion, refusing to look at the angel as he spoke again.

Castiel had risen, and he stood in front of Dean and placed his hand on his bowed head, tentatively at first, then with more conviction. "Dean, I will be here always. Consider me your friend, not simply one more in a long line of those who demand your blood or sacrifice. I'm not like you; humanity is complicated and difficult to understand. I am clumsy and inelegant with you...and I often seem to do more harm than good. My Lord entrusted me with the task of guiding you toward your destiny, but I swear to you; it isn't just this cause that spurs me to help you now. I see in you... the shining best of what humanity can be. I will do everything in my power to carry you through to the sunlight."

He vanished then. Dean was left in silent darkness, where he remained for a long time, curled up tightly and trying to digest all of it. He finally gave in to exhaustion, and he slept deeply, a long awaited sound and dreamless sleep.

* * *

It was past noon when he finally descended the stairs. Disheveled and bleary, he hugged his borrowed terry robe around himself, sat down heavily in Bobby's well worn easy chair and growled a demand for coffee. Bobby and Sam had spent the morning in quiet discussion, about Dean, about Sam and his new-found strengths and their ramifications. And about the future. Sam had needed that frank talk, and he felt a great relief after sharing some of his fears and worries with his older mentor. Despite the clearing of air between them, he couldn't do that with Dean, not after what he'd caused him. Bobby had assured and reassured him, and Sam had begun again to feel a little more a part of humanity rather than some half-breed destined to ally himself to the causes of Hell. He'd needed to centre himself, and Uncle Bobby had accommodated him perfectly.

Bobby returned with a hot mug and handed it to Dean where he sat hunched. _One Winchester set straight, one to go_... He sat down opposite the elder brother and waited patiently for the caffeine to assuage his mood. When he'd drained it, Dean sighed contentedly and leaned back in the chair. "G'morning." he grinned.

It was said so pleasantly. It caught the other two off guard; they'd been steeling themselves for the version of Dean that had greeted them for the past weeks. The looked to each other, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But Dean wasn't going down that path today. He was tired of being sour, tired of feeling bleak. He wanted something different today.

He kept smiling. "What? Can't a guy wake up in a good mood around here?"

"Sure..." Bobby answered warily. "Just ain't been the way of things lately. Forgive us for still feeling the need to duck."

Dean scratched his head guiltily, and turned to look out the window. It was a crisp, clear day. A beautiful day. He turned back to them, as they stared at him nervously. "Yeah...about that-" he sighed. "Look, I'm sorry I was lousy company. It's been a rough ride, but it wasn't only me that felt it. You guys have had a shitty time too, and I sometimes forget that."

Bobby glanced at Sam, and leaned toward Dean, peering at him with suspicion. "You haven't been in the scotch already, have you? Cuz it's a little early, even for you.."

Dean swore softly and frowned. "No! Jesus, gimme a break, will you? I'm serious here. I'm trying to apologize for being a crabby bastard, and you only get to hear it once, so would you just let me?"

That sounded more normal. Sam smiled then. "Ok. So go ahead.."

"Go ahead with what?"

"With your apology. We're waiting. Let's hear it."

Dean looked at him for a moment, then shook his head and snorted a laugh. "Bite me. You ruined it. What's for breakfast?"

Bobby still didn't know quite what to make of him this morning, but he decided to take it at face value. It was better that way. He got up and grumbled. "Breakfast is done and gone. It's lunch time. I'll see what we have left." He went out to rustle up something edible.

Sam was really glad to see his brother like this. But he grew serious again and asked him quietly. "Dean, seriously, you ok? I mean, damn, it's great to see you a little less, uh...down. But..."

Dean met his eyes and answered him solemnly. "I'm ok, Sam. Really. Don't worry, I haven't lost it, I just sorta had a renaissance last night. I had a talk with Cas... and he cleared some things up that I hadn't really been seeing for myself. And I had a freaking amazing sleep, finally. And I just woke up, and I wanted it to be better. I know things have been hard, and not just for me, for all of us. I figure the shit will hit the fan whether we cry about it or not, so why waste any more time drowning in self-pity and worrying over things I can't do anything about. What ever happens, happens, and why should I stop living now? I guess I just realized life's too short."

Sam sat back. He didn't know what to say. "Wow. I mean.. " He looked down, embarrassed at his lack of eloquence. He was deeply moved to hear his brother talk like this. It was something he needed to hear more than anything, and something he'd nearly given up on. He looked up again, shiny-eyed. "Dean, I swear, I-"

Dean smiled wryly. "Shut up, Sam. I know. Don't ruin it by saying it, alright? We're good. Shit happens...water under the bridge, let bygones be bygones... C'mon, I'm running out of cliches here!"

Sam snorted a laugh; at least that's what he hoped it sounded like, and rubbed his face, trying to mask his emotion. He cleared his throat and got up, patted Dean's shoulder and left to help Bobby. If he stayed with his brother he'd have ended up bawling, and he'd never hear the end of it.

* * *

Bobby had a hard time making the damned sandwiches. His vision kept blurring, he'd buttered his thumb twice and nearly added his fingertip to the tomato slices he was cutting.

"Let me take over, Bobby." Sam said softly.

Bobby nodded, mumbled an excuse and left to 'wash his damned hands'.

* * *

It wasn't a momentary high. Dean Winchester's outlook stayed brightened. It wasn't a prescription for bliss; he knew what they were up against. There were still times when the blackness crept back into his mind and soul. But it didn't take up residence this time, and he worked at it, for Sam's sake as well as his own.

They were on the road again, having convinced Bobby that Dean was hale enough to finally fly the coop. Bobby was not happy to see them go, despite his gruff complaints and manner. Although he missed the quiet solitude he had grown used to, he knew that the longer they stayed under his watch, the longer they stayed out of harm's way, and he was wound tight with worry for them. But he knew he couldn't keep them here forever; they needed to follow their own road. He also knew his path would cross theirs soon enough, and he prayed it would be in better circumstances. They'd said their embarrassed goodbyes, exchanged awkward but heartfelt embraces. He stood, arms crossed, and watched the shining car disappear into the dusty distance. He stood there long after they were gone, until finally, he sighed and turned toward the house.

* * *

The Impala was as tweaked and tuned as she could ever hope to be, thanks to Bobby's efforts. Dean sighed in deep contentment at the smooth, throaty rumble she made, she purred like a cat in the sun.

"Any idea where we're headed?" Sam asked. "You want me to look up any weird weather omens, or any other leads?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah. Not yet. I figure we're still off the clock for a little while. I think we've earned that much. And I'm pretty damned sure that Cas or somebody else will show up on our doorstep if they need us. Right now, there's only one kind of creature I'm interested in tracking down.."

Sam looked at him in alarm. "You're not seriously thinking of a creature hunt now? Dean; werewolves or vampires, they'll shred you in your state right now! You're not nearly-"

"Would you relax?" Geez, get a grip! I'm talking about women, Sam. Chicks, you know? Blond ones, with tight little cabooses and great big-"

"Ok, ok, I get it! " Sam laughed. "Sorry, I'm a little out of practice."

"Yeah, tell me about it. If I don't get laid soon things are gonna shrivel up and fall off. So get a map out, Sammy, and find us a decent town, but make it good and far; it's been too damned long since I was behind the wheel. We won't be able to stay under the radar for long, and damned if we aren't going to make the most of it!" He floored it then, and his easy grin was infectious, and Sam rolled down his own window and let the wind whip through his hair. The air was fresh and crisp, he closed his eyes and turned toward the sun. It felt very, very good.

* * *

sigh...the end.

* * *

Chapter End Notes:

Oh man...this story could have gone on and on, lol. It was supposed to be a sort of quick side story, written just after the Siren episode had aired. And it was meant to dovetail right back into the series as it was unfolding on tv. Famous last words. It led me down paths that I hadn't planned at all, and I couldn't end it then. But now it is done. I thank all of you sweethearts who took the time to review, and also those who strictly read in the shadows, both were greatly appreciated.


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